Chasing the Greatest
by Zbluez
Summary: "But I assure you, L is real! I do exist!" Not every gifted orphan made it to Wammy's House - but that didn't mean they were any less gifted, and it certainly didn't mean they were any less ambitious. Jaylin, a seven-year-old genius at the Weeping Willow Orphanage, is determined to find the truth behind that capital L, scandals and kidnappings notwithstanding.
1. December 5th

_A.N: So, wanted to try my hand a__t a Death Note fic! It will, probably, be longer than my other fics (dunno yet, expect 100k words or something). I don't own L, or Kira, or anything else you can recognize. Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter One - December 5th  
**

_But I assure you, L is real! I do exist!_

* * *

The Knight advanced with even, confident steps. His black armor glistened in the candlelight, his sword clinking against his side. He probably should have considered his next move more carefully, but he was tired of waiting. Sometimes, a quick, intuitive action could bring down the most complex of calculated plans.

But it was a trap! He realized it too late, just as it closed over him. The bishop had set a trap! He could only watch, dumbfounded, as the traitor turned towards him, and…

"Jaylin! Stop being such a creepy bore and come over here!"

I sighed, setting the bishop down. Really, I couldn't have a quiet minute to myself. I grudgingly made my way over to Sandra, hands in my pockets and mumbling. "I can't have a quiet minute to myself."

She rolled her eyes. "A minute? You've been sitting there for _hours_! What's so fun about playing chess with yourself anyway?"

I frowned. "It's not my fault you guys don't want to play."

Next to Sandra, Olm was scowling at me. Olm was infantile and recklessly violent, and believed himself to be better than me because he was older, richer or had parents - I hadn't figured out which it was yet. "Leave the freak alone," he spat. "Go back to the land of freaks, we don't want you here." Hate was too mild a word to describe my feelings towards him.

Sandra hit him on the head with her book. "You're so mean. Of course we want you here."

My irritation with Olm immediately disappeared. I felt a warm glow spreading on my chest, and my adoration for Sandra climb to celestial degrees. In our orphanage, not many people could say they were _wanted._ We had, after all, been cast away by our parents or our families – we were the leftovers, the garbage. The Weeping Willow seemed like it was made for garbage, in any case. Despite its elegant outward appearance, the inside of it was rotten. The beds were small and the mattresses hard, and the food, if it could be called that, tasted like generic dirt.

There were so many children living there that the caretakers barely remembered our faces, and they certainly couldn't be constantly watching us all. There were fights, and abuse, and children could fall sick without anyone taking notice for days. I doubted any of the adults there even cared about what happened to us, anyway. But with one off-handed comment, Sandra had made me forget all of it. Those were the kinds of moments that strengthened my loyalty ten-fold. If she had asked me to jump out the window right then, I would have.

She smiled, a wide, toothy grin. "So, what should we do today? How about the park?"

Olm shook his head, brown curls bouncing. "No. Let's prank Bulldog Bertha again. That was fun."

I glanced at the TV while they argued. It was set on a stupid cartoon. The cat was chasing the mouse, but he fell off the roof into a catapult. The mouse laughed and pressed a big red button, and the cat went flying. Honestly, couldn't they at least adopt a semblance of plausibility? Who did they think was going to believe that? "Today is candy day at the Sunken Corner," I input distractedly.

"Really?" Sandra grinned. "How did you work it out?"

"Last time, Bonman said he was going to make a batch of tiger chocolate, and the strawberry gummis. It takes him six days to make strawberry gummis, three days to make chocolate."

Olm did the math quietly, frowning. "That's nine days, genius, not eight. Candy day is tomorrow."

"Shut up, Olm. Jaylin's never guessed wrong."

I was about to explain why it would only take him eight days when the screen abruptly changed, blowing all thoughts of candy out of my mind.

"We interrupt your programming to give you an important message from the ICPO. This broadcast is live and world-wide. Translation to Japanese is offered by Yoshio Anderson. Now live from the ICPO."

The screen showed a man sitting behind a large desk. His eyes were a sharp blue, his black hair carefully brushed to one side. He stared straight at the camera, eyes unwavering. "I head up an international police task force which includes all member nations. My name is Lind L. Taylor," he declared evenly. "More widely known as L."

I frowned. What was the ICPO? Who was this guy? Probably someone important, if they cared to broadcast it on every channel… I picked up the remote and changed the channel just to check, then back again. Yep. Every channel.

Sandra and Olm had stopped arguing and were staring at the screen curiously as well. "Criminals around the world are being murdered by a serial killer," Lind L. Taylor announced, his expression extremely serious. "I consider this crime to be the most atrocious act of murder in history. I will not rest until the person or persons responsible are brought to justice." There were a couple of breaths of silence. "Kira: I will hunt you down. I will find you."

Ah. So, Kira. Olm proclaimed Kira as a good guy for taking care of all those criminals. Sandra was convinced he was a criminal himself and should be punished. I thought Kira was a prank. He didn't exist.

Kira was like God, according to Olm. Kira could see everything. Kira could kill anyone from a heart attack, just by wishing it. Kira was punishing evildoers to make a world where only good people would live. This L was obviously siding with Sandra, trying to catch him. But then, if Kira was truly God-like, what he was doing was pretty stupid. Announcing his intentions was equivalent to offering up his life to the man - or in any case entity - he was trying to catch.

"He's dumb," Olm commented, voicing my thoughts out loud. "Kira will just kill him."

And though I had predicted it, I couldn't help the breathless "Ah" that escaped my lips when Lind L. Taylor suddenly stiffened and his eyes rolled back in his head. A strong convulsion shook his body before he went limp and his head slumped on the desk.

He was dead.

So Kira existed? L had just proven it... By dying?

"Did he just die?" Sandra asked, pale and wide-eyed.

I didn't answer, shocked. Had I just seen someone die right now? For real? On TV? Kira could really kill just like that? My mind was reeling from what this implied. It was like the very foundations of my reason had been yanked out from underneath me, like suddenly waking up and finding out all your previous thoughts were merely a dream. I'd always believed that Kira was a farce. The idea that there was a God-like existence that could really kill by _will_ alone had seemed utterly ridiculous. In my mind, I'd always looked down on the people that preached it as fools, I'd even looked down on Olm to some degree. It defied reason. It shouldn't be possible.

And yet it had just happened in front of my eyes. I couldn't deny that kind of evidence.

Kira truly did exist.

As two men with suits took the corpse away, the screen suddenly went blank, save for a big initial L in the middle of it. What now?

"Wow… I… I had to test it just in case, but I never thought that it would actually happen… Unbelievable… Kira… So you can really kill people without being there in person." This new voice was synthetic, like a robot's. There was no way to tell if it was male or female, an adult or a child's.

I drew in a sharp breath, mystified.

"It's really true… I would never have believed it if I hadn't just witnessed it," the voice continued. All three of us were still like rocks, transfixed by the screen.

I came to a conclusion then. If Kira was a God, then L was a genius. I could feel myself leaning towards the television, waiting for what was to come. Because it was obvious he wasn't done yet. My hands dove into my pockets, fingers toying nervously with the elastic I always kept there.

L didn't disappoint. He revealed that Lind L. Taylor was actually a criminal they had used as a stand-in, to draw out Kira and test his power. And Kira had swallowed the bait whole, too. "But I assure you, L is real! I do exist! So why don't you kill me? Come on, do it! Kill me!"

I grinned shakily, not believing my ears. What? He was actively provoking an entity that had seconds before proven its power? What?

"What's wrong, can't do it?"

There was a long silence from the voice, a silence in which I could picture L, whoever he was, smirking smugly. Sandra and Olm, however, seemed to have lost the thread of things. I paid them no mind.

The blank screen was totally impersonal, adding to the mystery. L intrigued me more and more with every passing second. Who was he? How could he be so certain that Kira didn't have the power to kill him? My heart was thundering in my chest, my blood rushing in my ears. What would happen? Would he die? But time passed, and nothing more than a smug silence coming from the screen.

Absolutely captivating, and completely surreal. My fingers wound tighter around the elastic. I held my breath, waiting impatiently for the voice to continue.

"Can't kill me after all, huh?

So there are people you can't kill. Thanks for giving me the hint. Let me return the favor: I'll tell you something that I think you'll find interesting. Although this was announced as a worldwide broadcast, the truth is that we're only broadcasting in the Kanto region of Japan."

I grinned. Incredible. Masterful. L went on to explain his deduction on Kira's location and the nature of his power. I listened intently, absorbing every word coming from who I would later learn to be the greatest detective of the century, my grin widening with every sentence. L proved, in under _five minutes_, that Kira existed, that he was in Japan, and that he wasn't truly all-powerful, not as God-like as Olm thought. It was like watching someone pound a nail into a wall, every sharp, precise jab driving it in deeper. It was brilliant.

Finally the cartoon started up again, as if nothing had happened. I shook my head to wake myself up from the haze, turning to Sandra and Olm. Their expressions were of total confusion. "What was that about?"

"The police are trying to catch Kira," I summarized.

Olm clacked his tongue, irritated. "It doesn't take a genius to figure that out. But what happened?"

"They hired a detective called L, that was him talking. He..." I smiled to myself, searching for a vocabulary that they would understand. "He's a really smart guy."

Sandra was even more baffled. "But what about the man who died?"

It took me a while to explain to them what had really happened. Olm started shouting before I was halfway done, exclaiming that I was just a freak and he didn't need any explaining from me, and of course Kira could kill L if he wanted to. Sandra hit him again and asked me to kindly start from the beginning, while he sulked in a corner, mumbling insults. Then she went over to explain things to him in turn. He didn't seem to mind when the words came from _her_ mouth.

It had always worked that way between us. Sandra was the link between Olm and me; we both adored her, and were willing to put up with each other if it meant we could be close to her. She was the leader of our little group, confident and charismatic.

I made my way to the chess board while the two of them talked, split my mind in two, and started playing again.

_But I assure you, L is real! I do exist!_

The white bishop moved forwards, knocking the Knight off the board. "Check," he told the dark King.

His Majesty looked at the bishop, the shadow of the crown hiding his eyes. The bishop slowly lifted a pale, thin index finger. "You pretend to possess God's power? Who do you think you mortals are?" The King's mouth became a grim line under the finger's accusation.

I leaned back in my chair, eyes lidded.

The date was December 5th, 2003.

Sandra and Olm were nine. I was seven.

* * *

_Right. I know this chapter was a bit of a copy-paste, but the rest of the story will pretty much be original content. (Yes, there will be Kira case eventually, though probably not in a way you'd expect.) Anyway, I just wanted to thank Mirthful-Malady for making the cover art (isn't she awesome?) and a whole bunch of fanart, which is posted on my profile. _

_Regardless of whether you want to continue reading or not, I'd love a review, or a PM. I appreciate all opinions. What did you think of this first chapter? Is there something I can improve on? _


	2. December 5th, afternoon

**Chapter Two - December 5th, afternoon  
**

_If there's anyone who can beat the best, it's the second best._

* * *

I was seven, and still relatively indifferent to the adult world. At that point I didn't care for many things beyond chess, Sandra, and candy. But still, the confrontation between L and Kira stayed burned in my mind, an event that would always permeate my thoughts from that moment on. The memory was like a treasure I would take out at night and examine from all possible angles, savoring L's genius like chocolate. He became my childhood hero. I had no doubt he would win, in the end, no matter what mysterious power Kira had.

Despite having witnessed the ignition of the greatest war of minds in the century, my daily life continued as normal. Sandra and Olm lost interest in discussing the announcement after a mere ten minutes, and demanded we go out to pick up free chocolates at the Sunken Corner. I followed them, toying with the elastic. Sandra looked back and ordered me to walk faster, or there would be no candy left when we arrived.

"Let's play Castle," she instructed when I was level with them. "I'll be the Queen."

"I'll be the King," Olm sang hopefully.

"Eugh! No, I don't want to be married to you."

I smiled to myself as Olm's face fell. The Queen, or the Princess, were usually Sandra's preferred roles. It was that way for all our games. If we played Army, she was the General; if we played Astronauts, she was the team leader. And never once had Olm managed to be married to her. "You can be the prince. No, be a knight better," she declared, lifting her chin regally, and holding out her hand. "And you have to obey everything I say."

He was slightly disappointed at first, but after thinking about it, apparently decided it didn't sound so bad. We already obeyed Sandra in pretty much everything, anyway. "Okay."

"Kiss my hand, loyal knight."

He did it, a ghost kiss that barely grazed her skin. His bow was smooth and elegant, the way he took her fingers almost natural. It wasn't a simple bow either, he did a full curtsy, flicking his coat to the side. I was momentarily surprised, until I remembered where he came from. His upbringing showed up rarely, sporadically at best, but now was one of those times.

Sandra giggled as he let go of her hand before turning to me. "And you, Jaylin? What will you be?"

"Bishop," I replied immediately. "They move diagonally."

There were a couple of beats of silence while they wondered where that came from. Finally Sandra frowned. "This is Castle, Jay, not chess."

I shrugged. "There are bishops in castles, too."

She thought about it for a moment, black eyes looking up to the sky as if she would find the answer there. "Alright. You can be the bishop. Kiss my hand."

My bow wasn't as graceful as Olm's, but I did my best.

Sandra made us carry her all the way to the Sunken Corner, by interlocking our arms so she could sit on them. Occasionally she would order us to stop, and Olm had to fight imaginary monsters blocking our way. As a result of this, there was already a fair crowd of children gathering around the Corner when we arrived.

Bonman was a retired candy-maker, a corpulent old man with an important belly, but then again, who wouldn't have one when they worked around sweets all day. He was English, like Olm, with a snow white tuft of hair and kind, crinkly eyes. His cheeks were constantly colored red, as if he had a bad sunburn or was blushing permanently.

He liked to experiment with flavors, inventing new and wonderful ones in his kitchen. One day of the week, at exactly five p.m., he walked down to the Sunken Corner and distributed them out to the children there, so they could give their opinion about them.

The exciting thing was, Bonman never said _which_ day of the week he'd be there. It kept changing. One time it was Friday, the next week Thursday, then Monday. But I had managed to work out the pattern. Bonman dropped down clues as to when he'd be returning, in the form of stating what sweet he was going to make. It was like a code. Cola lollipops were three days, but if coupled together with another type of candy, they added two days to the total. Orange worms were three days too, but when combined with other types they subtracted one day to the total. So I knew that, when he said cola lollipops and orange worms, it meant seven days until his next visit. When he said strawberry gummis and tiger chocolate, it was eight days.

I was quite certain I was the only one to have worked out the code. But there were always diligent children who stopped by the corner every day at five, to check, and word of _Candy day_ spread through the neighborhood like wildfire. So even if I knew the code, it didn't mean we were always the first to get there.

"We could have come quicker if there hadn't been so many monsters," I observed while we took our spots in the line.

"Shut up. Who will rid the city of monsters if it's not the knight? Freak."

"Brute."

"Weirdo."

"Assclown."

We kept trading insults back and forth while we waited, Sandra ignoring us and turning to chat with another girl. They rolled off our tongues by pure habit - even I didn't know what some of them meant.

"Clitwart."

"Wimp."

"Buttface."

"Girl."

I frowned. "So what?"

Olm turned towards me, his lips curled up in an evil smirk. But before he had the chance to say something cruel, Bonman interrupted us. "So, Jay, what'll it be today? You only get two choices, remember."

I smiled at him, all teeth, or rather lack thereof. I had lost three of my front teeth recently, so I currently sported a quite creepy hole in my mouth. I suspected Bonman's candy was at least responsible for two thirds of it. "Small malties and Tiger chocolate," I grinned, holding out my hand.

He dropped the candy in it, winking at me. "I think I'll have some Skin Jelly for next time."

I beamed. "Really?" Skin Jelly meant only two days.

I couldn't say anything else as Olm pushed me aside to get his share.

After giving out the candy, Bonman liked to sit on the bench, watching the children and their reactions. I sat next to him; it was a privilege I'd gotten from figuring out his code. Our talks had become a sort of ritual. Sometimes we discussed the news, sometimes we talked about chess; and if I was lucky we'd play a game on the outdoor chess table by the fountain. I never mentioned the orphanage. Any time spent discussing those ruins of mediocrity was wasted.

He'd been initially surprised by my speech. I'd be lying if I said constantly hearing the phrase '_you're not as young as you look'_ didn't annoy me. But, to give him credit, he got over it much faster than any other adult I had talked to, and I now considered our conversations to be the most enlightening in the entire week.

I happily licked my fingers to prolong the sugary taste, making sure to lick in between my fingers too, since that seemed to be the place where sugar liked to accumulate. "So, Bonman," I started, while he sat back on the bench and relaxed, a contented sigh escaping his lips.

"What is it, Jaylin?" It always started that way. _So, Bonman. What is it, Jaylin_? He was never the one to initiate the conversation. He liked to hear me ask questions.

I found a particularly good place and stretched my tongue to reach it. "Who is L?"

He seemed surprised. "You know about him?"

"Of course I know about him. He was on TV just now."

He looked at me from the corner of his eye and crossed his hands on his lap. "Oh? And what did you think of him?"

"He's…" I paused, searching for the right word. "Brilliant. But I asked you first." I looked at him seriously. "Is he male?" What with the synthetic voice obviously designed to disguise his identity, I was surprised Bonman had deduced that much.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. "Well, I'm not actually sure… He could be female, I guess." When I just stared, he sighed. "I don't know much," he admitted. "Just what everyone else does. He keeps his identity a secret, but he's solved a thousand impossible cases. They say he's the best detective of the century." He frowned. "He could be female."

"Who's the second best?" I asked without missing a beat.

"And why would you want to know that?" he returned, mildly amused. After I asked a question, Bonman more often than not replied with one of his own, but I didn't mind. At least it proved he found my thoughts interesting.

"Because, I thought I'd ask the second best to investigate him," I reasoned. "If there's one person who can beat the best, it's the second best."

He laughed at that, great, booming laughter from deep in his belly, rumbling through his chest. "I don't think you can just _ask_ a detective to investigate another detective." After a while he stopped laughing, suddenly thoughtful. "Mmm. Actually, that might be an interesting idea."

We watched the sunset silently, the tinges of red and gold gradually disappearing behind the lights of the city's skyscrapers. The children were dispersing, called home by their mothers or going off in twos or threes. Sandra and Olm were sitting on the grass a few feet away from us, faces scrunched up as they examined something on the ground.

"So, who's the second best?" I insisted. Even so early on, I didn't easily abandon a line of questioning.

"I don't know, girl. I think I remember that, besides L, there were two others." He nodded to himself. "Yes, two others. There was a detective war between the three of them a while back. But I can't remember their names." He stood up, patting his belly. "I think it's about time you went home anyway, don't you? The sun sure sets early in winter."

I was a bit disappointed by the scarce information he'd been able to provide, but it looked as if he really didn't know. He seemed disappointed, too. Bonman knew all sorts of things, not just chess and candy-making. It looked like his ignorance in this particular subject annoyed him as well. I jumped off the bench and started running to where Sandra and Olm were, turning back to him just before I reached them. "Next time, we have to play chess," I declared seriously, if only to cheer him up. He smiled.

* * *

The Weeping Willow Orphanage was in the wealthiest neighborhood of the city. Its gardens were trimmed and tended to daily, the windows made with fine glass and cleaned carefully, the main doors with dark, expensive oak, oiled so it shone. But as soon as you stepped through the door the smell of dirt, sickness and rotting wood assaulted your nose, and you had to resist the urge to turn on your heel and walk right out. The rooms were small and dark, the corridors dirty, the chairs and benches broken. It was like biting down on a perfect, shiny, blood-red apple to find the flesh black and rotten inside.

In reality, the Willow was a nest of corruption. As one of the biggest orphanages in Tokyo it received an important amount of donations, but only about a tenth of those ever made it towards actually improving our living conditions. The rest disappeared in _administration costs _and _paperwork._ Even as a child I could smell the illegality from a mile away, and I had never understood how no one did anything about it. But it wasn't really my business anyway. I never thought of it as home, just a place to sleep every night.

Sandra and I had been living here for as long as I could remember. I'd always clung to her and followed her around, and she'd always protected me from the cruelties of the other children, like an older sister. The story of how the two of us came to meet Olm involves the discovery of the secret passage behind the hedge into his family's estate, and his instant crush on Sandra, and his instant dislike of me, but it isn't a story for today. What matters is that, since then, he had sneaked into the orphanage as often as we sneaked out. I suspected he was uncomfortable at home, with all the pressure and expectations placed upon him, and hanging out with other children was his way of escaping.

That night I lay on my bed staring at Sandra's bunk above mine without being able to sleep, considering Olm. I understood his antagonism towards me perfectly. He was jealous that I was the object of a great portion of Sandra's attentions, and that, added with my sometimes unusual behavior and obvious intellectual superiority, was more than enough reason for him to dislike me.

My musings about Olm were pushed aside as L's words started replaying in my head, over and over.

_But I assure you, L is real! I do exist!_

_They say he's the best detective of the century._

In my mind, Kira didn't have a chance. I knew this with the unshakable faith of a child, the iron hard belief that heroes would always triumph over villains.

I was still too excited to sleep, so I drew a chess table in my mind and placed all the pieces where they belonged. Then I took a deep breath, split my brain in two, and started to play.


	3. December 6th

**Chapter Three - December 6th  
**

_So, I say, if the police can't catch the bad guys, then we will._

* * *

Sandra woke me up the next day, as usual, screaming at the top of her lungs. We shared our room with eight other children, but they had gotten used to her morning rituals and merely groaned and placed their pillows over their heads.

"Waaaaaake… UP! Wake up! Come on, Bishop, wake up! There's plenty of things to do today!"

She was shaking the bed roughly, trying to agitate me out of my stupor. "I'm awake," I informed, holding the bedframe for balance. She grinned and stopped shaking it.

"Okay, then! Get changed, quickly!"

She tapped her foot impatiently while I pulled my shirt over my head and took the one she handed me, and then, since I was slow at tying up my laces, she leaned down and did it for me, before enthusiastically dragging me out of the room. She was usually cheerful and positive, but there was something odd about her this morning. "Nothing in particular," she replied when I asked what was up, trying not to fall behind as we raced through the Orphanage's corridors.

I stopped when I realized the direction we were headed to. "What about breakfast?"

"That can wait till later."

We sneaked past the corner where Bulldog Bertha liked to make her rounds, down a dark staircase and out of the building through a backdoor. The sunlight was blinding, and I had to blink rapidly until my still sleepy eyes could adjust. Then we crept around the garden for another fifteen minutes to make sure no one was following us. The first few times we had done this had resulted in numerous scrapes and bruises on our knees, but we knew the way so well by now that we could avoid the tricky branches and loose stones without even thinking. Finally we ducked behind the hedge, and crawled our way through the hole it concealed to Olm's property.

As I have said before, the Willow was in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods, so it really wasn't strange that it bordered with mansions big like castles. Olm's was one of them. His gardens were straight out of a fairy tale, with crystal fountains and statues and climbing roses over our heads. But we never spent more time than necessary here. All I'd ever seen of the actual mansion were glimpses of brown through the leaves - I had never been inside.

Olm was already waiting for us on the other side, brown hair slicked back and smart vest hanging snugly from his shoulders. His cheeks were slightly red, as if he had just finished running from something. "What's the occasion?" Sandra asked, amused at his get up.

He looked down, mumbling something about a special guest, and how he wasn't staying in that house one more second.

We left his property through a little wooden door at the back of the gardens. As usual, Sandra took the lead. Neither Olm nor I knew where she was taking us this time, but it must have been someplace special, if the skip in her step and the glow on her cheeks was any indication.

Then the florist's came in sight. "This is about Jun, isn't it," I observed, slowing down once again. "He woke up."

She looked back at me, amazed. "How did you know? Never mind," she added as I was about to answer. "You've always been good at guessing."

"Jun woke up?" Olm looked at Sandra for confirmation.

She nodded happily. "Yup! And we're going to get him flowers."

After a few seconds of consideration, Olm got out a wallet from his vest and offered it to Sandra with a flourish, as if performing a magnanimous gesture worthy of royalty. "Then I'll pay for them." He spoke to her only, like I didn't exist. "I just got my pocket money this morning."

She gave him a quick hug, taking the wallet. "I knew I could count on you, Olm."

He remained rooted to the spot while she spoke to the assistant and paid for a blue and white bouquet. Even as we left the shop he was still slightly bewildered, a dazed smile floating on his lips. I couldn't resist the urge. "What will happen if I give you a hug too? Will you faint?"

He snapped out of it. "Shut up. I wouldn't hug you even if it killed me, freak."

"Brute."

"Weirdo."

"Assclo-"

"Will you two just stop it already?" Sandra complained, turning back to wave the bouquet at us like a staff. "The next one who insults the other will be forbidden from going inside the room with Jun." That shut us up for good. We both wanted to see Jun, especially after waiting for five days for him to wake up.

It was still early in the morning, so the street was relatively empty as we walked. Sandra suddenly remembered that she was the Queen and shouldn't be walking at all, and had us carry her again in a repeat of yesterday's procession. Fortunately, she spotted less monsters this time, probably because she was as eager to see Jun as Olm and me.

The receptionist at the hospital wasn't surprised to see us. We had already come to visit him twice, once when he was brought in and another time two days later. She insisted that, since we were children, she had to be in the room with us, though.

We opened the door to find Jun leaning back on his cushions, watching TV. Both his arms were in a cast, and underneath the sheets the lump of his leg indicated it was in a cast, too. His face was pale and his black hair glued to his skin with sweat. He had shadows under his eyes, and a white bandage on his nose. He looked about ten years older than his actual twenty-five.

It didn't stop Olm and Sandra from jumping on him as soon as the door opened, however. "Jun! You're awake!" they squealed, while he unsuccessfully tried to pry them off him.

"Come on, you're hurting me." He shot them an annoyed look through sunken dark eyes. I frowned. I hadn't expected him to be all smiles and laughter after what he'd gone through, but the aggressiveness of his glare surprised me.

Jun was a caretaker at the Orphanage, but he wasn't like the rest of them. He stayed at our bedsides when we were sick, he read us books and told us stories. He broke up fights between the children and always stuck up for us when we got in trouble with the other caretakers.

He played Chess with me, too.

Five days ago he had been assaulted in an alleyway. The ruffians didn't take anything from him – simply beat him up and left. Olm had thrown a tantrum when he'd learned of it, declaring that this was exactly the kind of people Kira should punish. Despite her obvious anger, Sandra had stayed loyal to her beliefs, stating that killing was wrong, and they should be thrown in jail instead. After a moment of indecision I'd agreed with her, but only because there was no real need to kill them if they were caught.

Sandra and Olm weren't the least taken aback. "Here are some flowers," she offered, "to help you get better."

"Yeah," Olm piped up. "They're from Sandra and me."

I narrowed my eyes. "And me," I protested. "We all went to buy them."

Jun didn't smile, simply shifted his eyes to the window. "Thanks," he said hollowly, motioning for the nurse to put them in a jar somewhere. He hadn't looked nearly this bad when he was sleeping. What had happened to him?

Some of his old self returned when he noticed me standing by the door and, after a vacant silence, waved for me to come over and give him a hug, too. He breathed into my hair, deeply, and emotion finally crept back into his voice. "I'm sorry. I'm really glad to see you three again."

"Tell us about the bad guys!" Sandra requested animatedly. "Did the police catch them?"

"No, not yet." He looked away from us, towards the window again. "But I don't really mind anyway. As long as they leave me alone…"

Olm frowned, shifting uncomfortably in his expensive clothes. "But they're bad guys, right? They have to be caught!" His face suddenly brightened. "Oh, I know! Let's put their pictures on the internet, then Kira can take care of them!"

Sandra slapped him on the head. Jun would have, too, had not it been for the casts. As it were he contented himself with glaring at him sternly. "You can't do that, Olm. And besides, I don't remember their faces, so it's impossible." He looked down at the lump of his body under the sheets.

Olm's shoulders sagged. "None of their faces? Not even one?"

"No," he replied, his mouth a grim line. "But there are heaps of bad guys out there. You have to be careful when you walk through the city, alright? The Orphanage's neighborhood is fine, but don't go beyond the Sunken corner." Behind the guise of giving us an order, he seemed genuinely worried about us. I still detected something strange. He was simply too different. Perhaps it was only the shock of having been attacked, but...

Jun had never been one to give up, or be scared by anything. Even when things weren't going well for him he kept his smile around us; he never let his mood be affected. "If I give you a smile," he explained to me once, "then you'll give one in turn to Sandra, and Sandra will pass it on to the next person she talks to. That way, my smile will go around the world, and eventually it'll come back to me." But he definitely wasn't smiling today. His eyes were serious, almost sad, and he didn't even try to hide it. It unsettled me.

"We never go further than that anyway," Sandra replied merrily. She bounced onto the bed and took one of his arms. "So, tell us! How many were there? Where were you when it happened? Did you at least get one of them good?"

He looked into her shining, expectant eyes and sighed. "I told you, I don't remember much."

"But you have to remember _something_, right? I mean, you always remember when Bishop and I are supposed to have chores."

He blinked curiously. "Who's Bishop?"

"Oh, it's Jaylin. I'm the Queen. Olm's the knight. We fought heaps of monsters to get here, you wouldn't believe it."

Olm crossed his arms. "_I_ fought the monsters. You guys didn't do anything."

Sandra waved his comment away, proceeding to tell Jun about all he'd missed at the Orphanage. He laughed his first real laugh when we described our prank to Bulldog Bertha, and the tension in the room evaporated just like that.

Finally, the nurse kicked us out, stating that the patient needed rest and we were too noisy. We left the hospital chatting and smiling, our chests light with relief. They had told us Jun was alright and would wake up from the beginning, but it felt great to finally see it with our own eyes, and it felt even better to know that he could still laugh like he used to.

We ended up in the neighborhood's park. "You know," Sandra mused as she sat on the swings, "I'm really angry that the people who hurt Jun got away." Her eyes darkened and her mouth thinned, an expression I didn't see on her face very often. "So, I say, if the police can't catch the bad guys, then we will."

Olm grinned like a devil. "Okay. And then we can put their pictures on the-"

She hit him again. "Not that, idiot. We'll do an investigation to throw them in jail. We'll be a detective team. I'll be the Chief detective. You guys can be Junior detectives."

_Detectives._ I rolled the idea around in my mind.

It sounded delicious.

"In that case," I interrupted, "may I give my opinion, Chief Queen?"

Olm looked at me strangely. "No one wants your opinion, freak."

"Shut up, detective Knight. Out of all of us, Bishop's the one who's best at guessing." She nodded solemnly at me. "Please, go ahead."

I slipped into the role surprisingly easily. We had played many things before, but I never felt as comfortable as when I started becoming Detective Bishop. A tingling of anticipation ran up my spine like a million ants, and my mind became a cool, undisturbed pool, almost like a mirror. It felt so right, like I had been waiting for this moment all my life. Like I had been born for this. "I may be overstepping myself, but I think you've abandoned your line of questioning too easily, Chief," I stated seriously. "You were taken in by the victim's distraction tactics."

Sandra smiled at my use of language and mimicked it. "You overstep yourself. But never mind, do elaborate."

My hand dove into my pocket, fingers curling around my elastic. I resisted the urge to take it out and start fiddling with it. "The victim was clearly trying to sidestep your questions," I started. "When you asked about the incident he denied having any recollection of it, though it seems pretty unlikely that he wouldn't even remember the place where he was attacked. He also denied knowing the faces of attackers or even their number. Now, if he had been hit on the head and fallen unconscious straightaway, this wouldn't be so strange, but the number and severity of the wounds in other parts of his body suggest he tried to fight back, which means he was conscious."

The inertia of my deductions carried me forwards inexorably. I felt like I was watching a moment during a Chess match and had to figure out all the moves the players had used to get there. But this was different. This stirred in me a strange excitement that Chess rarely managed to awaken. "Thus, I find it strange that the victim didn't have any recollection of his attackers at all. So, he lied to us." My lips moved silently for a moment, working it out, and then I nodded. "Yes, it is safe to assume that he lied to us."

I looked up, surprised to find Sandra and Olm staring wordlessly at me. "Wow," Olm observed, "I didn't think you could say things that actually make sense."

I frowned. "Detective Knight, I'm finding your attitude extremely unprofessional. You could try to contribute to the case more productively." Then I smiled realizing he probably couldn't understand half the words I'd used.

Sandra was silent. She'd stopped swinging long ago. "So you're saying," she thought out loud, "that Jun does actually remember the faces of the thugs who attacked him?" She stood up suddenly, outraged. She'd always responded badly to lies, or manipulation, though she wasn't above lying herself when it was convenient. "Then we must question him again, straightaway!"

Olm cleared his throat. "I, um, think that would be unwise, Chief Queen. The nurse, um, did indicate that the victim needed rest and we shouldn't bother him any longer." For once, I agreed with him, mostly because I doubted Jun would give us more information even if we asked him a second time. He would most likely stick to his story, and as we had no proof for the moment…

"I don't think we can guess the victim's motivation for lying at this point," I reasoned. "But if there is a motive, we should find it in things that happened before the incident. I suggest we start by investigating the victim's actions during the hours that led up to it." I thought about it for a moment. Yes, I was right. It was unlikely that his silence was due to trauma. June had always been strong. If he was lying, then he was lying consciously, and willingly.

We discussed the case for a surprisingly long time after that. I'd thought Sandra and Olm would tire of it eventually, the same way they had tired of our other games before. But this time, one of the people closest to us was involved, and it made them unexpectedly determined to get to the bottom of it. I also suspect that the fact that we were fighting a real enemy, not just imaginary monsters, had their blood pumping with more excitement than ever before. It was the case for me, anyway.

I realized why I was really feeling so strange, ever since we started. I was a detective. Like L. While he investigated Kira, I would be trying to catch these criminals.

I smiled.

This was my very first case.

* * *

_A.N.: Drop me a review ! What do you think of Jay so far?_


	4. December 7th

**Chapter Four - December 7th  
**

_Just because you don't know a rule, it doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Rules are important. Rules will beat you if you're not careful._

* * *

We spent the whole of Sunday and the beginning of Monday making enquiries around the Orphanage. When it became clear that the last person Jun had seen before leaving that day was the Director, Mr. Valentine, our hopes deflated. We didn't want to see the Director. He was a monster of a man. And we had no way of getting into his office, either, and there was no way he would take us seriously, despite our extensive and brilliant careers as detectives.

The investigation was momentarily put aside for the afternoon, while we returned to the Sunken Corner for our share of sweets. There weren't as many children this time, probably because it was a weekday, so Bonman finished distributing the candy early. "So, Bonman."

"What is it, Jaylin?"

"Are we going to play today?" I had to stop myself from jumping up and down excitedly. It had been a while since we'd played. I wanted to beat him.

"I guess we have time for a quick game," he complied, frowning at the sun.

I ran to the chessboard and set up the pieces seriously. The armies were lining up. The King and Queen at the back, out of harm's way, with their Bishops, their generals, at their side. Brave soldiers on the frontlines, willing to give their lives up to protect them. Majestic knights, proud on their horses, their banners waving in the wind like flames…

"Jaylin?"

"Mmmh?"

"I investigated about L a bit," Bonman said as he sat down opposite me.

"Really?"

"Yes. But I found nothing on him. There are forums discussing his identity, blogs of dozens of people posing as him, but nothing concrete. Not one single fact. Not even if he's male or female. It's like chasing a ghost." I nodded – L must have a lot of enemies. I had expected him to be secretive, even paranoid. He could hardly call himself the best in the world if he didn't know how to keep his personal data private. "I did find things on the other two of the Detective War I told you about, though. Their names are Eraldo Coil and Deneuve. One is English, the other's Canadian."

My shoulders sagged. "Oh." I couldn't very well go to England to see Eraldo Coil.

We started playing quietly. At that age, I was an intuitive player. I hadn't studied the great chess games in history yet, and I had never heard of Grandmasters. I didn't know any of the famous opening sequences or the official names for different kinds of checkmates. But that also made me supple and flexible. I could adapt easily to new situations and change my plans on the run. I wasn't conditioned by the knowledge of mainstream strategies; it made me an unpredictable, if innocent, opponent. I saw the board, and I saw the pieces, and I saw the possibilities.

Around the middle of the game, Bonman made a number of serious blunders that gave me an enormous advantage. In little more than a dozen moves I captured both knights and one of his rooks. I stole a peek at him, smiling smugly. It wasn't like him to make such elemental mistakes, but I wasn't one to give him any quarter because of it either. He touched his red, rounded nose, a gesture he often did when he was thinking hard.

Twitching with anticipation, I forced a position in which his only option was to exchange Queens. The King would weep his loss – but only when the battle was over. Finally, only two of his pawns remained as potential threats, and they would be taken care of quickly, before I moved in for the checkmate. Grinning, I advanced my own pawn two squares, to block the first's advance…

… And froze when he moved the other in a way I hadn't seen before. "What's that?" I demanded, my grin suddenly falling away.

Bonman wasn't smirking like I had been during the whole game, but the corners of his mouth were pulled slightly upward, and there was an amused light in his eyes. On him, that expression was the equivalent of laughing in my face. "It's called _en passant,"_ he informed innocently. "Don't you know that rule?"

I crossed my arms, brow furrowed. He'd been the one to teach me Chess. He knew perfectly well I had no idea what _en passant_ was. "No."

"The pawn can take as if you had moved only one square," he explained, still slightly smug.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't suspicious. Of course I wouldn't normally accuse Bonman of making up rules, but I _had_ been winning during the whole game, and then he came up with this out of the blue. I was also extremely upset. My victory had been certain before, but now he was dangerously close to queening. In fact, given the position of my pieces, I could no longer prevent him from queening, no matter what I did. And then he would probably queen with the second pawn…

"You can't use that rule," I protested. "I didn't know it."

Bonman looked at me seriously. "Just because you don't know a rule, it doesn't mean it doesn't exist," he stated. "You're an amazing player, Jaylin, but you think you know all there is to chess, and you don't. Rules are important. Rules will beat you if you're not careful."

I ground my teeth. I'd thought there was something wrong with the way he played, and only now I realized that he'd been losing on _purpose,_ so he could humiliate me this way in the end. It wasn't _fair._ He couldn't win by using strange rules I didn't know of!

"What are you going to do, girl? Throw a tantrum like a baby or keep playing?"

I closed my eyes, forcing my anger to recede, visualizing the board in my mind. There was no point in playing anymore. With two queens on his side, I had lost. Might as well forfeit the game… However, something in me steered rebelliously at the thought. I couldn't just forfeit. If anything, I should attempt to buy myself some time to think, through continuous checks...

He won, of course. I watched as my King, alone on the chessboard, ineffectively tried to flee the army closing in on him like a net. It was sad. I used to lose against Bonman a lot, at first, but now it rarely happened anymore. And when I did lose it was usually because of stupid mistakes _I_ made, and I never lost the same way twice. But this... I'd played flawlessly, I'd played my best game, and I'd still lost. It was unbearably frustrating, and humiliating, and unfair.

"Jay," Bonman said gently. "You aren't upset, are you?"

I didn't reply, staring blankly at the board, then extended a hand and toppled my King. The noise it made as it hit the board rattled inside my head.

"I did it because I thought it would do you good, girl. It's hard to fill a cup that's already full. I needed to empty your cup."

My lips thinned. "I still think that's like cheating."

He beckoned me closer, and I reluctantly got down from my chair and walked over to him. "How about I give you this as an apology," he whispered, getting out his hand from his pocket, fingers closed over something. "I saved it just for you."

He opened his fingers to reveal a Rainbow Jam, my favorite chocolate of all time. I forgave him instantly.

* * *

When he declared the sun was setting and finally left, Sandra, Olm and I sat in a circle on the grass, back in Detective mode. "What have we got so far, Knight?" she demanded, leaning her head in her hand.

Olm cleared his throat, looking down at the small notepad on his lap. He'd been given the task of recording the progress of the investigation, since he had the best handwriting. Sandra had asked him with a smile and a flutter of her eyelids and he'd agreed without a thought. See what I mean? She wasn't above manipulation. "On the first of December, at two p.m., Jun, for some reason, requested to see the Director. A short time later Slop the gatekeeper saw him leave the Orphanage." He grimaced. "Slop, being the retard that he is, didn't ask why or where he was going. At six p.m. Jun was found by the Waterside warehouse, beaten and bloody. He had numerous bruises and broken bones, as well as a concussion. It means a blow to the head," he clarified upon her blank look.

We were silent for a while after that. I contemplated the grass, thinking.

Finally Sandra spoke. "The way I see it, we have three possible courses of action," she started. Sandra's voice had always had a tinge of authority in it, but now it seemed to be amplified by the grave atmosphere. She irradiated true authority, the kind that made even adults listen to her. "We can go to the Waterside warehouse to inspect the crime scene, question the victim again, or go see the Director." Olm nodded, but I didn't say anything, so she turned towards me. "What do you think, Bishop?"

"The victim won't change his story," I stated slowly, still looking down. It felt better to say _the victim _than _Jun._ Somehow, admitting the possibility that he had really lied to us made my heart sink. Thinking about it in detective terms was much easier to stomach. "Questioning him again will be a waste of time, at least until we have some proof that he's lying. I also think that the Waterside warehouse won't tell us much."

Olm snorted. "You're just a pansy. You're scared of going downtown."

I scowled back. "I'm not scared."

"Alright," Sandra interrupted dryly. "Bishop, keep going."

To take my mind off Olm, I got out the elastic from my pocket and started fiddling with it. "More than anything, I find the victim's behavior before leaving the orphanage suspicious. We all know Jun wouldn't willingly go within a fifty meters radius of the Director's office. So why did he suddenly ask to see him?"

Sandra nodded solemnly. "There's something fishy there, for sure."

"The thing is, he probably won't tell us why. He already lied to us about the attack, after all. I can't help thinking that whatever's making him keep quiet is linked to the Director. He might have wanted to resign, or..." I trailed off, the implications of my words hanging in the silence.

It was just a hypothesis, less likely than the thugs scaring him into silence. No, more likely. Jun wouldn't fear some thugs, no matter what they'd done to him. But the Director...

Sandra was thinking the same. "You think the Director's threatening him or something?"

"Possibly," I replied somberly. "He's a monster. He could do anything."

We weren't exaggerating. The man was an embodiment of cruelty. Once, a child in our room, Haru, was called up to his office. No one knew what he'd done wrong, but he must have angered him beyond reason, because he _never_ called us to his office. He returned two days later, wide-eyed and numb, with red bruises from his wrists all the way up his forearms. No one could wring a word out of him for months. He'd become jumpy and scared at everything, and sobbed into his pillow at night. Everyone in our room could hear him, even if he tried to be quiet. When somebody mentioned the Director, he froze up completely, and then started shaking violently like a wooden puppet.

To us, the Director was worse than a demon from Hell. He was worse than a dragon and a vampire and a giant spider combined. I'd only seen him once, from the window of our room, as he got inside a limousine parked at the gate, and I didn't want to see him again.

"We should interrogate the people at the Willow again," I continued. "It isn't like Jun to simply leave without a word. He must have told somebody something."

Olm shook his head, his brown curls shifting into his eyes, and he had to push them out of the way again. "We've already asked all the dorms, and nobody knows. I even asked Rei and Ann. I even asked Slop." He shivered. "And I'm not doing it again, the disgusting creep."

Sandra, who'd been silent for a long time, finally spoke up. "Jun wouldn't lie to us. The Director's threatening him, that's for sure."

Not for sure. But probable. Wanting to see the Director, then leaving the Orphanage straight afterwards, and then coincidentally getting beaten half to death. The thugs not taking anything from him, him refusing to talk. The more I thought about it, the more I could feel a plot shifting underneath it, like watching ripples on the surface of a dark pond. You knew something was underneath, causing it, but you didn't know what. The water was too murky for you to see anything.

I frowned. This was no longer just about Jun, or the Director, or throwing the criminals in jail. This was about the truth. I _needed_ to know the truth. I _needed_ to solve this case.

If jumping into the murky pond was the only way of doing it, then jump I would.


	5. December 20th

_A.N.: Long chapter, because next one might not be up till Sunday. Sorry guys, hope you don't mind.  
_

* * *

**Chapter Five – December 20****th**

_I think I know who our Rook is.  
_

* * *

"Did you know," I told Bonman, sucking on my candy, "that you can _train_ your sense of intuition?" It was a Rainbow Jam again, and I was in heaven. The thick, gooey substance oozed out from the chocolate in a paradise of strawberry, orange, apricot and mint, dripping down my fingers. When I finished it I licked my hands clean twice, searching for any last trace of sugar on my skin.

"Mmmmmm," Bonman growled noncommittally.

"The more you know about one subject," I continued, "the easier the intuitions come to you, and the more accurate your guesses will be. For example, the more Maths problems you solve, the more unexplainable intuitions you'll get in regards to Maths."

"And make sure you have a lot of experience in candy-making before trying to make up new flavors," he winked at me. "Yes, I know about intuition. But experience isn't all there is to it, I heard."

"Really?" I'd found the information in the neighborhood's Library, where Sandra had taken us that afternoon. I didn't usually like reading books, only resorting to them when my curiosity couldn't be satisfied through any other means. The strings of letters bored me. But since Sandra and Olm were busy questioning the clerks about Jun, I'd found myself with nothing left to ward against the boredom but books.

I'd ruffled through a scientific thesis on intuition before finding a whole section on chess strategies. I didn't know the Library had a section like that. Suddenly, reading had stopped seeming boring.

Bonman touched his nose and then crossed his hands on his lap. "Sure, experience counts. But your mental state has a lot to do with it. The emptier your mind is, the easier it is for your subconscious to make the connections," he explained. "For example, most writers have their best ideas in bed, right before going to sleep, when the mind is the most similar to a blank canvas. Or some writers get their ideas in dreams."

I leaned my head on my hand pensively. A bad maneuver, considering that my fingers were still sticky, and they glued to my hair. But I didn't really mind. My hair wasn't exactly clean anyway – the short strands were always knotted with dirt and occasionally leaves and sticks. Some sugar and saliva would hardly make a difference. "So that's where the expression _'I'll sleep on it'_ comes from," I deduced.

He grinned. "Exactly. You're giving your subconscious a chance to trickle through. The best decisions are the ones made right before sleeping." He shook his head, amused. "It's common sense. The calmer your mind is, the easier it is to think." He paused and looked at me out of the corner of his eyes, thoughts veiled, like he was measuring me. He'd been doing that often lately; I found it a bit unnerving. I hadn't yet figured out the reason for this behavior.

"A blank canvas, mmmm." I had now resorted to sucking on strands of my hair, trying to catch the leftover jam between the fibers. "Or a clear glass mirror, or a window."

"Is that what you picture it as?"

I nodded, and added, "When I play chess I split my mind in two mirrors. I mean, when there's nobody who'll play with me. I look into one mirror each turn. Sometimes it works better with windows."

He digested this information for a moment. "You split your... So you don't know what the other part of your mind is thinking?"

I shook my head. "No. I mean, not if I don't cheat. I can always stand in the middle and look into both mirrors at once." I grimaced. "But that's no fun."

He chuckled. It was slightly breathless, like he couldn't believe what I was saying; and when he spoke, I detected the slightest hint of admiration in his voice. "That sounds complicated."

"It took me a while to figure out," I admitted. "But it also helps me guess what other people are thinking. I just put them in front of the other mirror and look in it."

He gave me that sideways look again. I suddenly felt uncomfortable, and had to stop myself from squirming. He wouldn't think I was crazy, would he? I hadn't told anyone, not even Sandra, how my mind worked. Perhaps normal people didn't think this way? Perhaps Olm was right, and I was really an anomaly, a freak? I wrung my hands together nervously, annoyed but unable to do anything about the sudden burst of self-doubt. The last thing I wanted was for Bonman to treat me as a strange bug, like everybody else seemed to. He was the only one who respected my intelligence.

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly in an enigmatic smile. "I see," was all he said, and I could only wonder what he meant by it.

* * *

"Kiichiro Osoreda, the criminal at the center of the Fumijo bank robbery two days ago, was killed today in a traffic accident, after he attempted to hijack a Spaceland bus. Osoreda was holding the bus's passengers and conductor hostage and demanded the firm money in return for their lives. Suddenly, and for no apparent reason, he ordered the conductor to stop and threw himself out into the highway. He was immediately run over by a passing car."

I looked up from my chessboard. Odd. Who willingly jumped into the highway? Then again, Osoreda was a drug addict, so maybe he'd been hallucinating, or something.

"His death, added to the Kira heart attack victims, makes for a total of thirty-four criminals passed away this week. Meanwhile, progress on the Kira investigation is still slow…"

One of the children in the room changed the channel. "...This award symbolizes the work and dedication of the staff at the Weeping Willow Orpha- " This time, the one who had the remote changed it so quickly you'd think it was on fire. I scowled. How could they give the Willow an award, again? Had they ever _been_ inside?

I was distracted as a shadow fell on my board from behind. I turned my head to come face to face with Olm, a dark look in his eyes. Sandra was nowhere to be seen. "What are you doing, freak?" he demanded unkindly. Olm's eyes were usually green, but right now they looked more like a sharp, cruel grey to me.

"Playing," I replied, returning to my game.

He snorted. "That's all you do. Play your stupid chess. You haven't done anything to help with the investigation. I don't even know why Sandra keeps you around."

I remained unaffected. Olm was upset because, in nearly two weeks of searching, we hadn't found a single clue to tell us what had happened to Jun. Olm had even been brave enough to ask Bulldog Bertha about it, even though the woman was nearly as bad as the Director himself. But she'd refused to answer, and threatened to hang him by his thumbs if he didn't piss off.

"I'm thinking," I replied somberly, pushing the knight forwards. Jun still hadn't been discharged from the hospital, and we'd been discouraged to visit him again while he was in recovery. The one time we had made it to his room, he'd been talking to a woman in a police uniform and told us to go home.

"Thinking," he spat, like the word was venomous.

"Yes," I replied calmly. "You should try it once in a while."

"Stop being mean, Detective Bishop," Sandra's voice called from the corridor. She walked over to us and sat on the chair in front of me, staring intently at me. "We need to work together to solve this case."

I kept moving the pieces, scowling. _I_ was willing to work together with Olm. It was him who threw jabs at me every chance he got.

There was a long silence between the three of us. Finally she started speaking again. "We haven't found anything. But that doesn't mean there's nothing to find, detectives. It just means that whoever's hiding it is good at it." Her frown deepened. "We're not giving up. We will find the guys who attacked Jun, and we will put them in jail. It's our job."

Olm snorted. "At the rate we're going, we won't. And pardon the impoliteness," the sarcasm was heavy in his voice, "but Detective Bishop hasn't been doing anything for days now. All she does is sit and play chess. She's almost as useless as that stupid L."

I turned around to face him, angry. How could he say that about L? He'd proven to be a genius. He was probably planning, investigating in secret, that was why nobody knew what he was up to. "L isn't stupid or useless."

He crossed his arms. "Oh, yeah? Then why has he said nothing for weeks now? He doesn't know what to do, that's why. Kira will never be caught. He's justice!"

"Kira isn't justice!" Sandra jumped in. "He's just a murderer, a criminal. Killing is wrong, no matter who you kill."

And off they were, into their age-long dispute. _Kira is punishing criminals to create a better world, a world where only good people will live. Kira is killing people who are already in jail, who have already paid for their crimes. Kira only wants a peaceful world for us. Kira only wants to rule us as some sort of twisted God._ I'd memorized their arguments the first time they'd spoken them, and since then they hadn't varied all that much.

I had no opinion on Kira. I wanted L to win because I wanted to know the truth behind the case. If Kira won, we would never know.

I pushed the thoughts of L and Kira out of my mind. It wasn't very professional to stick your nose into another detective's business when you still had your own case to solve. And, to my irritation, we seemed to have hit a dead end. No one knew why Jun had wanted to see the Director or why he'd left the Orphanage that day, and, without that information, we couldn't move forwards. "At this rate," I mused quietly, "meeting the Director will be unavoidable if we want to solve the case."

They stopped arguing and turned towards me. "Why do you say that, Detective Bishop?"

Frowning, I picked up the chessboard and tilted it, toppling all the pieces to the ground. The noise as they rolled off it and hit the floor was vaguely reminiscent of a waterfall; I listened to it with a dark satisfaction. Olm wasn't the only one who was upset at our lack of progress. "Even if Jun did say something to someone about what he was doing, the possibilities that they'll tell us are low. The Director managed to shut Jun up after all, and Jun is one of the bravest people in the Willow. He wouldn't bend to any regular threat. If Jun is too scared to say anything, then whoever he might have told will be just as scared." I let that sink in, while I bent down to start picking up the pieces and place them back exactly as they'd been.

"Even if there is someone Jun confided in before leaving, they won't tell us anything either," I concluded. "The Director will be threatening them, too."

There was a stunned silence. Then, "You're the one who said we should interrogate people at the Willow!" Olm roared, his face contorted in rage. For a moment he looked like he was about to hit me, and I cringed. But, instead, he kicked some of the pieces on the floor away, sending them crashing into the wall. "Now you're saying it's useless? Dumb freak! I'll show you–"

"That's enough, Knight," Sandra snapped dryly. He shut up, but not without shooting me a blood-curling glare. I held his gaze, ashamed of having cringed before. But who could blame me? Olm was much bigger, stronger, and more prone to violence than I was.

"I did consider the possibility of this happening," I said quietly, arranging the pawns. My movements were sharp and jerky, betraying my annoyance. "But it was necessary. If no one was willing to talk, it would confirm the theory that someone powerful is behind it." I got down on all fours to look under the couch. "And I was hoping we'd get something. Just a flicker of information would have been enough to break this case. Have you seen where the rook went?"

After a moment, Sandra knelt down next to me to help me look for it. Olm stayed standing stiffly, still obviously mad. I hated how childish he was. I was nearly two years younger than him and I could act more professionally than he did; but I also understood. I'd be angry too if I found out all my efforts for the last two weeks had been for nothing.

Sandra must have been thinking along a similar line, because she stopped searching and looked at him. "Your interrogations have been helpful, Detective Knight," she said softly. "We can now be absolutely sure that the Director is linked to the attack. It wasn't all wasted."

Olm's scowl softened at her words. Really, he couldn't have been more obvious if he waved a neon sign around. _I have a stupid crush on Sandra. One smile from her and I lose my mind. I'll do anything she tells me to. _Disgusting_._

She stood up decidedly. "We will have to get in his office."

I nodded solemnly. I'd come to the same conclusion: we needed to interrogate _him,_ the great big boss. He wouldn't admit to anything directly, but he might say something to give him away without realizing it. We had to somehow trick him into revealing himself. But it wasn't going to be easy, and, as much as it hurt to admit, the Director terrorized me. An image of Haru's bruised arms flashed through my mind, and my gut clenched. There had to be an alternative… ah. "Perhaps we don't have to meet him directly after all," I thought out loud.

"What do you mean?"

I frowned, still thinking. "Mmmmm… No. It won't work without concrete evidence…"

Olm grabbed my shoulder and shook me a little. "Just say it, you freak."

My eyes slid to the chessboard, to the glaringly empty space left by the rook. "I was thinking… Maybe we could somehow make him believe we already know what he's done, and that way he ends up confessing himself."

Sandra thought about it for a moment, looking up at the ceiling. "Well, it's not a bad idea. It always works in movies."

Olm let me go, scowling. "Don't be stupid. He's never gonna fall for a trick like that."

"No, he won't fall for it, not if we don't have some kind of evidence to make our story believable." Before I realized it, I had dug my hand in my pocket and was winding my fingers around my elastic. "The rook's still missing."

Olm rolled his eyes, mumbling something about freaks and their unintelligible babbling. I was staring at the empty white square where the rook should be. We were missing what Jun didn't want to tell us, the key piece of information we'd been searching for since the beginning. It always came down to that: Jun's lie. What he did before leaving the Orphanage. Why the Director wanted to keep him quiet. We were missing the person Jun told before leaving - because he had told someone. He had to. I closed my eyes, trying to think as Jun would. Someone...

Sometimes, no amount of reasoning could get you to a conclusion. Sometimes, the answer came as an intuition, as a sudden enlightening, as a connection made by your subconscious; as, simply said, a _gut feeling._ My intuition wasn't yet completely honed, not yet sharp as a knife's blade, but it had awoken. I had no logical argument to back up my following statement, no explanation for the idea that suddenly appeared in my head. But I could feel in my gut that I was right.

My breath hitched in anticipation.

My hand froze in my pocket.

My lips stretched into a smile.

"I think I know who our Rook is."


	6. December 21st

_A.N: Ahem. In my defense, I'll say I have been stuck on a foreign country with no means of updating for two days, because of some strike. Hopefully, it won't happen again. Anyways, sorry about the lateness, and enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter Six: December 21rst**

_I'm the Queen, Olm's the Knight and Jay's the Bishop. But the Rook's spot is still open, if you would like to join us._

* * *

Haru was a small, thin child, thinner than me, with twig-like arms vaguely reminiscent of a spider's. His hair was shaved short, close to his scalp, and his eyes were big and always darting around nervously, looking for invisible threats. He kept his hands close to his body, never reaching out too far or making sudden movements, as if he were afraid of the space surrounding him.

We found him sitting by himself in his usual corner, between two bunk beds. He had used the covers to make a roof over his head and walls on either side, like a house, or a cocoon. The covers were dirty and worn out, and had holes in them, which he had arranged so they looked like windows. This was how he usually spent his days, building a fort and hiding himself inside for hours, alone and isolated from the rest of the world.

We approached him quietly, Sandra in front and Olm and me trailing a little bit behind. "Who's there?" he demanded, tense and alarmed, when he heard our steps. Nobody bothered to speak to him anymore, not since he'd become a shivering mess of cowardice; so he was taken aback, and suspicious, when he looked out the window and found the three of us standing there hesitantly. "What do you want?"

Sandra recovered quickly and took a careful step forwards, trying to make herself seem as non-threatening as possible. Her palms were open, her body language whispering _harmless_. I found myself thinking she could become a great actress in the future. "We were just thinking your house was really cool," she started. Ah, yes. Compliments first; really a great actress. "We were wondering if we could come inside."

Haru moved away from the window and placed a box in front of it so we wouldn't see him. "No. G-go away," he stammered. "This is my castle. No one's allowed in it but me."

"We're a delegation from another castle," Sandra explained, quickly catching onto the game. "We want to negotiate a treaty with you."

The box moved back a fraction of an inch, showing a narrowed, suspicious eye. "I s-said go away!"

"He's more of a freak than you are," Olm breathed cruelly next to me. He had started shifting impatiently; he was never one to stand nonsense for long. I feared that he'd attack Haru before we had a chance to interrogate him.

"We bring a peace offering," Sandra continued, pretending not to have heard him. She got out her hand from the pocket of her jacket and held out a bunch of Orange worms. They were from our secret stash of candy, which had been greatly dwindled for the sake of this operation.

The eye stared at the candy for a long while. Silence stretched, and Olm grew more impatient. I simply waited; sooner or later, he would give in, if only for curiosity. Haru seldom left his castle, let alone the orphanage; he would have never walked down to the Sunken Corner, never tasted Bonman's candy. But he must have been dying of curiosity from the stories the other children told. Orange worms were the perfect bait.

"Alright, you can come in," he finally agreed, and, with a trembling hand, lifted the cover to let us through.

We ducked under the flap and sat around in a circle. Haru's eyes shifted from Sandra to Olm to me to the Orange worms in front of him again incessantly, and he quickly skirted back, drawing his hands to his chest so he wouldn't have to touch us. Finally he extended one and grabbed a handful of the candy, and shoved it in his mouth, chewing slowly. We held our breath.

After another long silence, he finally swallowed and took another worm, savoring it more this time. "I accept your offering," he whispered. "But this is still my castle. I can kick you out whenever I want." He meant to make it sound confident, but it seemed more like a question. Sandra nodded anyway.

"Of course." She looked up to the ceiling for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "We would never attack your castle, Haru. We want to be your allies."

"Oh, y-yeah?"

She nodded. "That's right. We think this," she gestured around, her arms encompassing the space under the covers, "is really pretty. Right, Bishop?"

"Right," I agreed, still watching Haru. I was evaluating him, the way his head was ducked in his shoulders as if to protect it, how his fingers kept moving even when he wasn't doing anything. "You should get an elastic," I added distractedly.

He jumped and turned towards me. "Wh-what?"

I nodded to his fingers. "To keep them busy. See? I always have one in my pocket." I took it out and showed him. "You can make all these cool diamond patterns with it." I spread my hands to show him a cross, and then with a quick shift of my fingers turned it into a double-cross.

He simply stared at it for a moment. "Can I have it?"

I frowned. "No. Get your own." Sandra suddenly hit me upside the head. "Ow!" I protested, rubbing it.

"Of course you can have it." She shot me a stern look. "Bishop, give it to him."

I obeyed, grumbling. It was the best kind of elastic, with just the right mix of spring and rigidity so it wouldn't break. My fingers had gotten so used to it that any different one would feel weird and out of place – but I could only watch mournfully as Haru toyed with it for a while and then put it in his own pocket. Then he looked back up. "Are you a Bishop?"

"Yes," Sandra answered for me. "I told you, we're from a different castle. I'm the Queen, Olm's the Knight and Jay's the Bishop." She smiled. "But the Rook's spot is still open, if you would like to join us."

"Not another freak," Olm mumbled, too low for anyone else to hear. I just grinned. Without even being aware of it, she had started using my Chess terms. It made me ridiculously proud that the name had stuck.

Haru was still looking at us suspiciously. "And what do I get?"

Sandra blinked. "Huh?" It seemed like the idea of anyone refusing her was foreign. "Um… Well… You can come with us, I guess. I will say what we do every day. Knight will protect you from any monsters who want to attack you, he's really strong. Bishop will guess when it's Candy Day. She's really good at guessing."

Haru's eyes widened. "Knight will protect me?"

"Yup! And we'll help him! That way, no one will be able to hurt you when you want to go outside."

For the first time, Haru smiled, and it was amazing how his whole face lit up. He was like a completely different person, bright and sunny. I wondered if this was how he'd normally looked before being called to the Director's office, and quickly established a correlation with Jun's strange behavior. A shiver ran down my spine. If that man could change a person so much, he must truly be a monster.

But then Haru grew somber again. "And what do I have to do in exchange?"

I grinned to myself, again. Only if he was exceptionally smart, or exceptionally paranoid, would he have suspected that we hadn't approached him simply because we liked his castle. Either way, he'd gotten it right. Sandra inhaled deeply. "We want to know what Jun told you on the 1st of December, before he was beat up," she said all in one breath.

Instantly Haru froze, his stick-arms held defensively in front of his body. "He-he didn't tell me n-nothing."

"Come on, Rook," Sandra nudged, moving a bit closer. "We'll protect you from everyone if you tell us, remember."

He brought his hands to his ears and huddled into himself. "No!"

Sandra moved back, startled by the loudness of his cry, and for a few heartbeats we just watched him tremble in a corner of the tent. I sighed, my fingers twitching for my elastic. Maybe the negotiations needed my input. "Actually," I started slowly, "Jun was the one who told us to ask you."

Haru was surprised enough to stop trembling and peek up at me. "Wh-what?"

"You know how he was attacked?" He nodded, while Sandra shot me a questioning look, and Olm glared at me strangely, no doubt wondering what I was up to. "Well, he got hit on the head, and he can't remember anything that happened that day, but he does remember that he told you about it. The doctors think that you can help him get better if you tell him. He wanted to meet you himself, but since he's in hospital and he can't move, he sent us here instead."

"He can't remember what he told me?" Haru repeated, baffled.

I allowed myself a pause to savor my victory. I'd been right: Haru _was_ our Rook. My mind raced with the implications of this, thinking back on my intuition. Why had Jun chosen Haru, and why had I thought of him? "Actually, he wanted you to go to the hospital and visit him."

Haru's eyes widened. "M-me? But I can't–"

I licked my lips. For one, because no one would suspect that Haru, the shriveling kid that never showed his face, would know anything important. Secondly, Haru would never go out of his way to divulge the information – in fact, he'd go out of his way to keep it _secret, _as had been proved so far. That information, then, must have been something that Jun didn't want widely known, either because it was uncertain or very dangerous – but it must have been important enough that he wanted someone else besides himself to be aware of it, just in case something happened. Which it had.

What had he found out that morning that was so risky? We were getting close to the heart of it, I could sense it. Externally, I forced myself to keep a calm facade; but internally, my heart quickened with anticipation. "Yes, I know. He didn't want you to leave your fort either. So if you just tell us, we'll go to the hospital and tell him for you."

Haru's eyes kept shifting from me to the air surrounding me wildly. Olm snorted, but Sandra put a hand on his arm to settle him down, and he was immediately distracted. I waited calmly; either he told us, or he didn't, but that was the most convincing lie I could come up with. Finally Haru took a shallow breath between his teeth.

"Al-alright. I'll tell you. But you can't tell anybody else besides Jun, okay? It's a secret."

* * *

"I-I had just finished building my new fort wh-when Jun walked into the room. I saw him from the window; he was trying n-not to make any noise, and he kept l-looking behind him as if to check that no one was following him. After he closed the door, he walked straight towards me and asked if he c-could come in. I said yes, because Jun is the only person who speaks to me anymore, and besides he's been in my castle before.

He-he said he was going to tell me a secret, a very big secret, and that I wasn't allowed to tell anyone else. When I asked him what it was about he said it was the D-director, and I told him I didn't want to know about it t-then. But he said he'd bring me candy the next day, so in the end I agreed to listen. I didn't understand most of what he said anyway, so it wasn't too bad."

_"What did he say?"_ Olm hissed, nearly at the end of his patience.

Haru jumped a bit and looked at him, terrified. "Th-that he'd found real _inconties_ in the _ourkives_."

"You mean inconsistencies in the archives," I corrected distractedly.

"Uh, I-I don't know. That's what he said."

"Okay," Sandra urged, "keep going."

"I told him I didn't understand, but he kept talking anyway. He seemed real scared. He said he'd just talked to the Director. He told me that the Director was _braybing_ people."

"Bribing," I corrected again, this time sitting up straighter. Now we were getting somewhere. My fingers dug into my pocket, to find it empty. I _had_ to get my elastic back somehow; I couldn't think without it.

"He went into a computer and found a _fahle_ where he saw how all the donations were being _dahverted_ somewhere else. He said the Director was _braybing_ people with money that was supposed to be for making the Willow better." Haru frowned slightly. I saw a hint of his past self in that frown, a hint of disapproval or rebelliousness – perhaps not all was lost for him yet. But immediately he started trembling again, as if the mere mention of the Director was a curse, and the frown disappeared to be replaced by an expression of pure fear. "H-he told me the n-names of some people."

Sandra took over the interrogation then, Olm acting dutifully as the scribe and recording every name that escaped Haru's blubbering lips - the list was quite long, impressive that he remembered them all. I retracted inside my mind, using my hair as a substitute for my elastic, twirling and tugging on the strands. The Director was bribing people. Without even researching those names, I already had a pretty good idea of who was among them.

There was no other explanation for the tremendous number of awards the Willow received every year. The Willow was mediocre. That it was classified as the best orphanage in Tokyo had always been a mystery – but no longer.

The Director bribed the members of the tribunal that gave out the awards. That's why we were so high up on the list.

I wondered what kind of benefits he was getting out of this, and immediately realized it was money, of course, as in all things. The bigger and more famous his orphanage was, the more money he'd receive in donations, and the more he'd be able to spend on bribes, and the more he'd be able to keep for himself too.

Jun had started suspecting something and hacked into his computer, or somehow seen or obtained files and emails he wasn't supposed to, and found the truth behind it all. Then, being the brave, straightforward person that he was - which were just other words for _stupid_, a part of me scorned derisively - he'd confronted the Director about it face-to-face, no doubt hoping to wring an explanation, or, in the worst case, a confession out of him. I didn't doubt the Director had offered him money in exchange for his silence. When Jun had refused, he had threatened, and then acted upon his threats by hiring some thugs to do the dirty work for him.

But still, a beating wouldn't have been enough to shut up Jun. The Director had done something else, something much more terrible, something that had truly scared him to the point of not saying anything. So what…? I looked at Haru pensively, catching sight of the marks on his arms as the sleeves of his worn-out shirt lifted up. Even after so many months, the scars hadn't faded. "Haru…" I said slowly, interrupting whatever he'd been whispering. "Why did the Director hurt you?"

It was like turning a switch off. Haru froze instantly, like a deer caught in the headlights. I didn't give him time to start trembling. "Was it because of something someone else found out?" I pressed on. "Was the Director threatening to hurt you if that person didn't keep quiet about it?"

Even when he didn't answer, I saw the truth in his horrified face. Of _course._ Jun wasn't the first caretaker to investigate the corruption going on here; it was way too obvious. Even I, a seven-year-old, knew that there was something illegal about the Willow. And when the bribes and personal threats weren't enough to keep those who knew quiet, the Director held the _children_ as hostages. If one of his caretakers decided to tell, he threatened to hurt the _children. _Haru had been an unfortunate victim of this, a demonstration. But now I was wondering which caretaker before Jun had confronted the Director, who had insisted so much that the Director had actually carried out his threat, on Haru. "Who was it?" I demanded, eyes wide. "Who was he trying to keep quiet?"

Haru shook his head, and then burst into tears.

* * *

_A.N.: Review, pretty please? What do you think of Haru?_


	7. December 25th, Christmas day

**Chapter Seven: December 25****th****, Christmas Day**

_ What would you think if I told you that Kira needed a name and a face to kill?  
_

* * *

It was cold. Not the kind of lung-burning, finger-biting cold that tore through your clothes and settled in your throat, but an almost peaceful cold, quieting all things around it. It was as if the blanket of snow was too thick and heavy for anything to move underneath, as if the world had become lethargic and still. Sandra warned us that the small cloud formed with our breathing was actually a bit of our soul escaping, and a contest started to see which of us could hold their breath for longer.

We were walking down to the Sunken Corner, all four of us. After days of talking to Haru in his fort, we had finally convinced him to come outside. "It's Christmas, and it's snowing," Sandra had insisted. "You should at least see the snow."

He walked in the middle of our formation, hands close to his chest, head hunched, overwhelmed by the sensory overload that being on the street no doubt meant for him. Sandra walked in front, leading the way. Olm and I flanked him on either side to prevent any strangers from touching him, forming an illusory bubble of safety.

This was our second attempt. The first time, he'd looked out the back door of the orphanage, started trembling, and skirted back through the corridors like a helpless ant, all the way into his castle. It took us two days to convince him to re-emerge again. But now we had made it under the hedge and out of Olm's estate with barely more than a whimper from him. And as we got further and further away from the Willow, he started to change. I don't think he even noticed it himself; but his strides grew longer, his fingers stopped squirming, and his shoulders gradually lowered until he was almost walking normally. It was like the snow landing on his skin was shedding away his fearful, frightened persona, to slowly reveal his true self underneath.

Of course, once he saw the amount of children gathered around the corner, he turned back into a bug. His eyes started spinning wildly around again, and he jumped at any sudden move. He was paranoid by nature; he avoided crowds like the plague, and this was undoubtedly the biggest crowd he'd ever seen. I found myself counting the seconds until he bolted and we'd have to run after him, like before.

I think only the sight of the candy stopped him.

There was such a huge mountain of it even Olm, Sandra and I froze when we saw it. It piled up besides Bonman's bench, all colored wrappers and boxes of chocolates like some shining treasure, taller than the man himself. I had no idea how he'd managed to carry it all here – he'd need nothing short of a truck just to transport it. Bonman himself was dressed up in a Santa Claus suit; his prominent belly and white hair made for an uncanny resemblance.

We approached him slowly, amazed at what we were seeing. All around us children laughed and threw snow at each other and jumped into the pile of candy. It was like stepping right into a storybook. I felt my wonder grow inside me until all I wanted was to stay in this moment forever; run around and play in the snow and eat candy for the rest of my life.

I don't expect anyone to understand our amazement, not unless they were from the Willow. Christmas at the orphanage was a sad affair. The caretakers went on holiday; the only one who stayed was Jun. He was the only one to buy us presents too, from what he managed to squeeze out of his meager salary. Then he left to see his family. Sandra, Olm and I usually escaped the orphanage as soon as we could and spent the day walking around admiring the pretty city lights.

That was the only Christmas we'd ever known: the three of us, walking alone in the cold. I wondered why Olm didn't go back to his mansion where it was warm and he no doubt had many expensive presents waiting for him, but he never offered an explanation, and I'd never been curious enough to ask. We simply didn't understand the point of Christmas. To us, there was no magic, nothing special, it was a day like any other. Until now.

Today, for the first time, Bonman had made the date of Christmas and Candy day coincide. When I commented on it Sandra beamed, declaring it was the perfect occasion to try making Haru go outside again. We expected to find him and his small candy bag as usual, not Santa Claus and this... gigantic pile.

"Hello, ho ho ho!" he laughed when he spotted us. I couldn't help myself. I left the formation and pounced on him, so happy I could barely believe it.

"Santa!" I cried.

"Merry Christmas to you all! Have you been good kids this year?"

Sandra, Olm and Haru were staring at him with wide eyes. Perhaps they were older, but not old enough that they couldn't still feel the magic in the air. Seeing all this, right after escaping from the Willow, it was like a dream. "Yes," Sandra answered breathlessly.

"Ho ho ho! What did you say? Santa can't hear you!"

"YES!" They all cried, even Haru, who had started jumping up and down on the balls of his feet excitedly.

"Well then, help yourself to some candy!" The words had barely left his mouth and they were already jumping into the pile.

He squeezed me briefly and whispered in my ear, "Don't forget to talk to me later, alright, Jaylin?" before he let me go so I could join the others.

That afternoon was the best of my short life. I forgot all about the Director. I forgot all about Kira and L. I forgot all about how I didn't have parents and being called a freak. It was as if, for one moment, I could feel nothing but happiness, and think nothing but how the Rainbow Tongue melted in my mouth and how I was going to shove snow down Olm's shirt.

Eventually, we grew tired. The cold and the breathless running around had our lungs and our legs crying for rest. Sandra and Olm fell to the snow, and, after a few minutes, started teaching Haru how to make a snow angel. I went to sit next to Bonman, as he'd asked.

Neither of us spoke. I chewed on my frozen hair thoughtfully, an absent smile on my face. More children had joined in on Sandra's demonstration, and now there was a row of snow angels quickly forming in front of us. Bonman smiled as he watched them, looking exactly like a kind, satisfied Santa Claus. "You added a new flavor to the Rainbow Tongue," I observed after a while. "Lemon."

His eyes crinkled as he looked at me. "Did you like it?"

"It combined surprisingly well with the strawberry," I replied. "Though the acidity was unsettling."

He nodded, pleased, and then opened his mouth, as if he was about to say something else, but had changed his mind. "Would you like to play a game today?"

We had to clear some snow from the chess table and the chairs, but I didn't mind. My clothes were wet and soggy already from the running around earlier. I was starting to feel the cold, but the happiness in my heart warmed me. It is a strange feeling, happiness. Whether you are hungry or cold or sick, it pushes it all back, making it seem unimportant. Bonman's Christmas, as it came to be known in the neighborhood, had made me so happy I didn't have room for anything else.

Bonman wasn't concentrated on the game. To be honest, neither was I. But it was clear that his mind was in another place altogether, not watching me or watching the children. I started wondering what was troubling him, what it was that he'd wanted to say before, but remained silent, giving him the chance to gather his thoughts. It was something I'd learned about Bonman; he liked to take things at his own pace.

He touched his nose, staring into the distance, and let out a long sigh. "What would you think," he finally started, "if I told you Kira needed a name and a face to kill?"

I was taken off-balance by the sudden change of subject, and my hand froze in mid-air. I hadn't been following the progress on the Kira case lately, not that there seemed to be any. Olm kept mocking me about it, but I still believed L was simply planning his next move. "That it made sense," I answered, setting down the chess piece. "That was why he couldn't kill L during the broadcast. As long as L keeps his name and his face hidden, he'll be safe." Bonman nodded, as if he'd expected no less from me, so I continued. "I assume you investigated whether the victims of the heart attacks appeared on the media before their deaths."

"Yes," he admitted, turning serious. "They all did, in some way or another. Most of them appeared on TV, but some were in the newspapers as well. Criminals who only had their photographs shown didn't die. Criminals who only had their names shown didn't die. But criminals whose name and photograph were both shown died in the following days." He paused. "Why are you grinning?"

I shook my head. "It's just, L must have realized all this more than three weeks ago, before the broadcast. That was why he was so sure Kira couldn't kill him." I captured a pawn casually, using _en passant._ "When the murders had only been happening for five days? He truly is brilliant."

Bonman looked at the board for a moment, then laughed disbelievingly at my move. "Figures," he muttered. "You'd think I'd learned not to underestimate you by now." He sighed and moved his rook to block my pawn's path, but there was little he could do at this point. "I thought you'd be more excited. Have you given up on investigating L then?"

I frowned, putting my hand in my pocket. I'd found a new elastic from the candy wrappers. It wasn't as good as my old one, but it served its purpose. "Mmmm… No. It's just that I have my own case to concentrate on at the moment. But when that's done, I'll be free again."

"Your own case? What about?" He seemed tremendously curious, leaning forward intently in his chair and trying to catch my eye. It felt oddly satisfying to see him so interested.

"I expect you'll know soon enough," I answered enigmatically. "Checkmate." He registered my words, then looked down at the chessboard, puzzled. "The pawn was bait to lure the rook away," I added, just in case. He really _was_ distracted today.

He smiled to himself. "I see. That was clever." He started arranging the pieces back in their starting places, and I quickly helped him. Were we going to have a rematch? This was definitely the best day of my life. "Do you want me to teach you something new? I think it's about time you started learning opening sequences."

"Opening sequences?" I repeated, nearly bouncing on my chair with excitement.

"Yes. They're studied ways of starting a game that give you an advantage. Every half-serious chess player knows about them." He switched the pieces around, moving pawns and knights. "This one's called the Sicilian defense," he stated. "Black aims to advance the queen's pawn without retribution. You use it a lot, unknowingly."

I stared at the board. I did usually play Black that way. But… "But then you do this," I replied, moving another piece, "and you block me."

He smiled. "It's called the anti-Sicilian."

We spent the next couple of hours studying the Sicilian and its variations and how to counter the anti-Sicilian. If I'd though I'd been enjoying myself before, it was nothing compared to now. It was like the rainbow icing on the cake. It was like returning home from a day at the amusement park and finding you had won the lottery. Christmas was officially my favorite day of the year.

Night had already settled in when we finished, and the cold was starting to get worse. Bonman saw Haru shivering and offered him his Santa Claus jacket as a Christmas present. At first, Haru looked at it suspiciously, not even reaching out to take it; Sandra grabbed, it rolling her eyes, and threw it on his shoulders unceremoniously. He yelped and shook it off, as if it were full of disgusting germs.

While Sandra tried to convince him that the jacket was harmless, and that no, no one was going to ask for anything in return (and Olm threatened to hit him if he didn't stop being such a wuss) Bonman turned to me again. He was looking at me in that way he often did lately, evaluating me, his thoughts so deep I couldn't read them. "Jaylin, have you… Has anyone ever asked to adopt you?"

I drew in a quick breath. So this was what had been on his mind. "No, no one."

"Would… Would you like that?"

I crossed my arms, frowning. He held my gaze, blue eyes unwavering, waiting for my answer. _Adoption_? The thought was so foreign I couldn't seem to wrap my head around it. No one at the Willow ever got adopted; when children left, it was because they'd run away. I hadn't even realized that the possibility existed. "Only if Sandra comes with me," I replied carefully, feeling like a soldier treading on a mine field.

He nodded, thoughtful. "What about Olm and… the other child?"

"Olm already has parents," I answered matter-of-factually. "And I don't think Haru would like to. He can't adapt to unfamiliar situations. A drastic change like that will make him go crazy."

He nodded again and didn't add anything else. We left the Sunken Corner, tired but happy, Haru still refusing to put on the jacket, Olm still threatening to hit him, Sandra giving up and ignoring them. I was too puzzled to pay attention.

Had Bonman just offered to _adopt_ me?

* * *

_A.N.: Skin Jelly for next time ;)_


	8. January 6th

**Chapter Eight: January 6th**

_Because you wouldn't be able to do anything about it anyway! Of course! Bishop, that was a great idea!  
_

* * *

In the end, breaking the case hadn't been so hard. Getting the Director convicted, however, was another matter altogether. Over the following days we set up a plan, we recruited allies, we fought him from the shadows.

Not that I wanted to, mind you. I was content with the truth. The truth was what I'd been after, and I'd found it. Of course, there were still questions – who was the other caretaker that Haru had been punished for, who exactly were the men who had assaulted Jun, why was he found at the Waterside warehouse. But I had discovered the greatest portion of the truth, and any other issues were merely circumstantial. As far as I was concerned, the case was solved.

Sandra, however, didn't see things my way. She was bent on justice, or revenge, I wasn't sure yet; she declared she was going to find a way to put the Director and his thugs in jail, whatever the cost. They were evil men, and they shouldn't be allowed to hurt any more people. In the end, I agreed with her – not that I really had any choice.

So we started working again. I was glad, in a way. I still didn't know what to think about adoption. I was completely ignorant on the subject, despite my initial impression that logically, I should accept. The uncertainty made me uneasy. So Bonman's proposal was pushed to the back of my mind, in the benefit of mirrors and chess pieces, which were, in my opinion, much easier to figure out.

I reasoned that Jun must have obtained significant evidence on the Director's scheme, because otherwise he wouldn't have been taken seriously. That evidence must have been substantial enough to get the Director convicted, or at least placed in a tight spot. Jun had probably left the orphanage that day with the intention of handing it to the police, but had been intercepted by the thugs, who took it from him after the beating. He didn't say anything about it later because, firstly, he no longer had proof to back his story up, and secondly, he feared for our well-being.

Everything fit. There were no loopholes, no gaps. If we could just discover _how_ Jun had gotten his evidence perhaps we could obtain it following a similar method. And when we did, we wouldn't confront the Director about it; we would go straight to the police.

At least, that was Sandra's conclusion, and we simply went along with it. She decided that it was time to interrogate Jun again. We had Haru on our side, after all.

Convincing Haru to come to the hospital with us was harder than I expected. I'd thought that, after our little Christmas adventure, he would be more eager to visit the outside world. But it was as if Christmas had filled his quota for the year. No matter how much we insisted, all he wanted to do was stay in his castle and sleep, or draw things on the walls. And when Olm started to lose his patience, resorting to insults and threats, Haru curled into a ball, whimpering, and the sight was so pitiful Sandra hit Olm and ordered him to stop.

"I-I don't get why you want me t-to go anyway. L-leave me alone!"

"We'll protect you like before, Rook," she said softly. "Don't you trust us?"

But no amount of pleading or reassuring made him change his mind. So, in the end, she told him the truth. That we were trying to get the Director in prison and that we needed his help again.

Haru was many things: weird, traumatized, a coward, but he wasn't stupid. He realized immediately that we'd lied to him. Or, more specifically, that I'd lied to him, tricked him into revealing what he knew. He was angry. He'd already been taken in by Sandra's charming personality, and he was too scared of Olm, so he was angry only at me.

He didn't manifest it the same way Olm did. Haru's anger was quiet: a glare, a silent scowl, a casual bumping into the table to topple my chess pieces. But I saw in those mean gestures more initiative and motivation than in any other action he performed during the day. Little by little, I started to catch glimpses of fire in his eyes (that it was directed at me was of little importance), and he became less skittish, less evasive, more assertive. We even quarreled from time to time, whether it was for Sandra's attention, L and Kira, or any other trivial matter. I liked to think he was slowly, but surely, turning into his old self again, getting more used to interacting, to standing up for himself.

If Sandra was my role model, and Olm my rival, then, in time, Haru would become my best friend.

* * *

In the end we did manage to bring him to the hospital, after promising him that yes, we were just going to speak with Jun, and no, there wouldn't be anything dangerous, and yes, we'd go back to his castle straight afterwards. When he saw Haru with us, Jun knew we'd found out the truth. He no longer tried to deny it, but ordered us to keep quiet about it instead. Sandra refused adamantly.

"No," she stated, crossing her arms and looking at him straight in the eye. "We will put them in prison, and that's that."

"You won't," Jun replied from his seat by the window. It was a step up from the bed, at least. He still looked frail, but his voice had an equal amount of conviction. "That man is dangerous. You're just kids; you don't know what you're getting into."

"So what do we do?" she challenged. "We keep living in that rotten place until we turn eighteen? There's no way I'm staying there for eight more years!" She was jumping the gun a little, but it was alright because her birthday was coming soon. And then she played the card that he couldn't refuse. "We can do it, with your help. We just have to get proof and send it to the police, right? But, even if you don't help us, we'll do it anyway."

Jun couldn't abandon us to our fates. He tried everything to dissuade us; persuasion, threats, even bribes, which was ironic. And, when he realized we weren't going to budge, his shoulders sank and his gaze dropped to the floor. There was a long silence. "Promise me that you will never get into a dangerous situation," he finally said, defeated. "Promise me you will always run away if you can. Promise me you will kick and scream and do anything not to get caught by that man." I found that ironic, too. That the only person who'd been brave enough to confront the Director was ordering us to run away.

He told us everything.

And then the plan was finally put in motion.

* * *

That had been four days ago. Now Sandra, Olm and I were excitedly skipping down to the police station. Haru had decided to stay at the orphanage, and, given the tense situations he would undoubtedly face in the future, we didn't insist. He was a key witness, after all. He'd have to go through extensive interrogations, maybe even appear on trial, face the Director in person. The following weeks would be hard on him.

_"Genius kids take down corrupt millionaire! Evil Director: facing a life sentence! The Weeping Willow Scandal!" _Sandra recited, grinning. "Imagine what they'll say about us this hour tomorrow! We'll be all over the front page!" Tied with a piece of string around her neck was a memory stick. Apparently, they stored copies of all sorts of files. My knowledge of electronics was nonexistent, so I'd simply believed what she said. It was our evidence.

I smiled to myself. Yes, we would be on the paper tomorrow; I'd made sure of it. Our case had all the ingredients to make the front page.

The police station was more like an office, full of desks and tables, people bustling everywhere, some in uniforms, others in office clothes. When we walked in they all paused what they were doing to stare at us. We were probably an unusual sight, with our old, tattered shirts, our faces red from the cold, our fingernails dirty, but our eyes shining. Their gazes were all on us as we stood there awkwardly, waiting for them to say something.

I was a bit surprised, honestly. I'd never been inside a police station, but I certainly was expecting something different than the cheerful atmosphere we'd just interrupted. Finally, a man approached us. He was tall and dark-skinned, and his nametag read Inspector Fumijo. "What are you kids doing here? Do you need help?" he asked, making his voice serious but gentle at the same time.

"We're from the Willow orphanage," Sandra replied, slightly nervous. "We, um, we're detectives. I'm Chief detective Queen. These are Junior detectives Knight and Bishop."

Inspector Fumijo simply stared at us for a moment, then looked around at his colleages briefly, confused. "Alright," he said slowly, wondering whether to take us seriously or not.

She shook her head, forcing her nervousness away, and when she spoke next she was as confident as ever. "We've been investigating the assault of Jun Himato on the first of December; we know this office was put in charge of it. We've discovered that the Director of the orphanage is behind it all. He hired thugs to beat him up."

I expected Fumijo to blow us off. It was the most likely reaction, and I'd already prepared for that scenario. But he didn't. Instead, he stared at her for a few more seconds before straightening up. "Gwenn, this is your case," he announced loudly.

A woman was in the middle of standing up from her chair. There was something familiar about her. Her hair was long and straight, her eyes big. She looked quite young, for an officer. "Yeah, I'll handle it," she replied, standing up fully. She smiled at us, no doubt trying to seem reassuring, but I found it oddly twisted instead, like a grimace.

She showed us into a private room. The walls were smooth and bare like a sheet of blank paper, and the only things in it were two chairs, a table, and a microphone on the table. I spotted the camera on the upper corner. An interrogation room. This was the first time I'd ever been in one.

She dragged two more chairs through the door and asked us to sit down. She sat opposite us and crossed her fingers over the table. There was a long silence in which all we did was stare at her. "So, you kids thirsty?" she finally asked. "Want some juice or somthing?" I frowned at her treatment. It was a subtle form of dismissal; she wasn't treating us as detectives, but as children. Then again, it was to be expected.

"Don't you have to close the door and turn on the mike?" Olm asked curiously, ignoring her question.

She smiled again. "That's only for real interrogations. We're just chatting."

I remained silent, evaluating her. I remembered who she was now: the policewoman Jun had been talking to when he refused to see us. So it appeared that she was, indeed, in charge of this case.

When none of us said anything, she tried again. "So, why don't you start by telling me what your relationship is to Jun?"

My lips thinned, and I interrupted whatever Sandra was about to reply. "How about you tell us the findings of your own investigation first?" Olm gave me that glare again, the one that told me to shut up or he'd topple my chair.

Gwenn looked at me, surprised. "Pardon?"

"We would like to share with you, but perhaps you already know everything," I lied. "And we would only waste your time."

She chuckled. "Honey, I've been working on this case for a long time. I can afford a few more minutes, even if I already knew what you were going to say."

"Mmmmmm... Okay. Look at it this way then." I got out the elastic from my pocket and started fiddling, making diamonds and crosses. She was obviously surprised by the familiar way I was talking to her; but my conversations with Bonman had always been from equal to equal, and I refused to be seen as inferior just because I was a child. "The Director is a powerful man. Just by accusing him, and telling you our theories, we're already taking a risk. You, however, aren't taking any risk by listening. I believe we should even the ground out a little."

She just stared. I sighed. Adults.

"Furthermore, you didn't seem surprised when we accused him," I continued anyway. "Which means, you have already made the link between him and the attack. Or maybe it's because you work for him."

This time, Olm did kick my chair, lips curling into a snarl. "You're ruining everything, freak. Just shut up."

I regained my balance and crossed my arms. "Fine. But someone has to be covering for the Director's crimes; they can't all go unnoticed."

"I see," Gwenn breathed. "You think he could be bribing me, too." She said it with a certain awe, like she'd never even considered the idea. Perhaps I was wrong. Or perhaps she was a very good actress. Either way, it betrayed that she already knew about the bribes, which raised my suspicions. Could her investigation have progressed as far as ours, or was she speaking from experience?

"It is a definite possibility that he has contacts in the police," I admitted calmly, still toying with the elastic. "The very fact that you are the one leading this investigation makes you a suspect. This is why I say that talking to you is a risk. You might see why we are reluctant to share information."

I glanced up to see her smiling to herself disbelievingly. It was more honest this time. It reminded me of the look in Jun's eyes whenever I said something smart. "I'm not taking bribes," she declared, amused. "Though I guess I have no way to prove it to you."

"It's alright," I conceeded quietly. "You can't prove nonexistence." On the other hand, she didn't seem like the type of policeman who could be bribed. In fact, the more we spoke to her, the more I was reminded of Jun himself. Perhaps... No, Jun didn't have a sister. And besides, the resemblance wasn't physical; it was more about her straightforward gaze, about how she didn't conceal her astonishment.

"I guess I can tell you I suspected about the bribes," she admitted. "Though no one in the department took me seriously. Jun didn't say anything either, and that didn't help." She frowned. "Beyond that, we tracked down the thugs who attacked him, they're in custody right now."

Sandra's eyes widened. "They are?"

She nodded seriously. "Evidence shows that Jun was actually transported to the warehouse for the beating. They figured they'd need a more isolated place than a crowded street; that suggested they had a bigger motive than simply beating him up. Questionning him, perhaps, or something else. But they were so tight-lipped it was impossible to get anything out of them, which, of course, indicated they were working for someone. I started the case there." Ah. So she had followed a completely different line from ours, and arrived to the same conclusion. If anything, it was only further proof that we were right. "I'm curious, though," she added. "If you suspected me, why did you tell me about it?"

Sandra answered for me. She was slightly breathless, like she'd just figured it out. "Because you wouldn't be able to do anything about it anyway!" she exclaimed, ruffling my hair. "Of course! Bishop, that was a great idea!"

Now Gwenn was even more puzzled, wrinkles forming in her brow. "What was?"

"We sent a copy of our evidence to every major newspaper in the city before coming here," she explained excitedly. "So even if the police didn't take us seriously at first, the story would appear in the media. It was Bishop's idea. But it also works if the police are on the Director's side."

Olm grumbled something like "whatever." Gwenn looked at the three of us, mouth agape.

"You sent this 'evidence' to the media?"

Sandra nodded, taking the memory stick from her neck and handing it to her. "Yup! There are files, and bank transfers, and everything! Here you go!"

Gwenn looked at it for a moment. Then her mouth snapped shut and she took it with a grim determination. "Well, then, I better start working. Tomorrow, this thing's gonna blow."

* * *

_A.N: Well, now that the case is solved, the real story can start. Sorry if this first part seemed a bit too long, hope you didn't mind. It was more like a prologue, really. _


	9. January 8th

**Chapter Nine: January 8th**.

_The truth was simple, really: L had disappointed me._

* * *

The beams shone down harshly on the plateau, highlighting every line of the expensive furniture arranged there and every tooth of the smile our host directed at us from the red couch. I looked around, shielding my eyes from the glare, squinting to make out the spectators, but everything beyond the floor's limit was cast in complete darkness. It was as if we had just stepped onto a stage floating in the middle of a black nothingness.

Next to me, Haru started trembling. "It's alright," Sandra told him, taking his hand. "We're here with you, remember." On my other side, Olm shot him a glare that made him cower even more. He started gnawing on his lip as the host approached us, the sharp, unnatural smile never leaving his face. Personally, I considered the fact that Haru was actually on the plateau a big achievement.

"Hello, children! Welcome! My name is Mr. Jumma, it's such a pleasure to meet you!" he exclaimed loudly, his grin widening even more, until it was vaguely reminiscent of a shark's. His hair was slicked back, dunked in so much gel the light reflected off it like a mirror. "Come here, come here! Take a seat, I don't bite!"

Haru seemed rooted to the spot, frightened by the four or five cameras around the stage that were now focused on us like huge, unblinking eyes. I couldn't blame him; in all certainty half of Tokyo was currently tuned to their televisions, watching our every move. I shifted nervously in my new, expensive shoes, wishing we were walking down to the Sunken Corner like usual. "Seriously, though, I don't bite."

I made a decision then. If I ever became a real detective, I would do my best to avoid the media. I didn't like the idea of millions of strangers knowing my face and my name and what I had done. It made me feel naked and helpless. Working from the shadows was a much more appealing perspective.

Sandra, however, seemed completely in her element. They had put her in a pretty blue dress, curled her hair and polished her nails, so she looked almost like a true princess. She even smiled and waved at the cameras as she slowly followed Mr Jumma towards the couch, pulling Haru along. Olm gazed adoringly at her, practically drooling. It was disgusting.

Haru was looking around wildly, absolutely terrified despite Sandra's words of reassurance. After barely four steps he tore his hand away and ran back into the darkness. "Rook!" Sandra cried, then snapped harshly to me, "Go get him."

I obeyed, only too happy to escape the cameras' glare. Behind me, I heard her explain to the puzzled host that it was alright, Detective Rook did that sometimes.

I raced after Haru through the studio's corridors and lost him. But there weren't that many lonely, isolated places he could hide. I found him crouched inside the boys' bathroom, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth, his breathing fast and irregular, his eyes impossibly wide, fixed on the floor in front of him. "Haru?" I asked, approaching slowly. He didn't respond. "What are you doing?"

He looked like one of those broken toys at the orphanage that couldn't stand up straight. Back and forth, back and forth, frantically. White knuckles, shallow breaths hisssing through his teeth.

It had never been this bad before. I didn't know what to do.

After a while I crouched next to him, being careful not to touch him. "Hey, it's alright. You don't have to go if you don't want to," I lied, with the hope it would settle him down. Jun had tried to dissuade him from making an appearance on tonight's program, but Sandra had insisted he would be alright, and in the end she'd won the argument. But perhaps it hadn't been such a great idea.

He kept rocking, back and forth, back and forth, and I just watched him, my worry slowly being replaced by a child's morbid curiosity. How many oscillations was he completing in a minute?

Unfortunately, the door to the bathroom opened before I had time to count the seconds. Inspector Gwenn, dressed in her uniform, stormed into the room, but froze upon the sight of Haru. "Haru? Are you alright?" she asked worriedly, taking three long strides towards him.

"I wouldn't touch him if I were you," I warned. "He gets worse."

Her hand paused in mid air and she turned towards me slowly, without taking her eyes off him. "Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

I shrugged. Gwenn had been assigned to take care of us yesterday morning, after reporters had shown up by the thousands at the Willow's gates. She had brought Sandra, Olm, Haru and me to her house, and we had spent the night there. Haru had taken the change of environment surprisingly well, so I figured there was no need for her to know about his episodes at the moment. But that had been before Sandra convinced him to appear on TV. "He gets like that sometimes," I explained. "When strangers touch him, or he's in a crowd, or things around him move too quickly. He runs into a quiet place and stays there until he gets better."

She looked at him, biting down on her lip anxiously. "Haru," she started in a quiet voice, "it's alright. Nobody's going to hurt you."

He rubbed his arms, where his scars were hidden under his sleeves. "Th-they're all w-watching me," he breathed. "They're watching me!"

"It's alright, honey," she tried again. Then she sighed, turning back to me angrily. "Sandra and Olm, I understand... But you... You should have known he wasn't right! Why didn't you tell me? Why isn't he seeing a specialist?"

I shrugged again. I'd established long ago that Haru suffered some sort of mental disorder from his torture at the hands of the Director. Any other child would have been immediately put in a program, or taken to a shrink, to make his recovery as smooth and easy as possible. But nobody noticed those kinds of things at the Willow, and there was no money for it anyway. Jun had talked to me about it a couple of times, worried, so I told Gwenn the same things I'd told him. "He was getting better by himself, little by little. On Christmas he went down to the Sunken Corner and played with the other children without any kind of trouble at all." I looked at his shivering shape, still hugging his knees. Now that we were famous, perhaps it would be easier to get help. "But you're right. He needs to see a specialist. He'll need someone he knows to come with him or he'll break down, though."

"I'll take him to a doctor, right now," she stated with decision. "Go back to the plateau. They're waiting for you."

I complied, leaving the bathroom and making my way back through the corridors. I wasn't too worried about Haru. I knew that inside, he was strong; perhaps it would take a while, but he'd get better eventually.

I wandered back to the stage, hands in my pockets. They had tried to put me in a dress too, but in the end decided for pants, since they would hide my skinny legs better. I was about to step into the light when sounds coming from my left, through a half-opened door, froze me dead in my tracks. "Switch to camera three." There were grunts of agreement, and then a younger voice spoke. "Wait up! L says to play the message now."

"Alright, do it."

_L says to play the message now?_ I slipped into the room, which was only lit by the glow of screens showing the interview from many different angles. Men and women sat in front of chairs with headphones on, handling cables and switches. A simple message appeared at the top of all the screens in small white letters. "NKK News special report: in an effort to capture Kira, the ICPO has brought 1500 FBI investigators to Japan." Breathless, I grabbed a random remote and pressed a button. One of the TVs in the room changed channel, but the message was still there, just like with the Lind L. Taylor broadcast a month ago.

"Hey, who did...? Oh, you're the one we've been looking for! Come on, they're waiting for you!" A man took my hand and dragged me out of the room, and threw me in the shining plateau outside.

The public clapped as I stumbled into the light, and the host stopped talking to Sandra to smile brightly at me, standing up with a grandiloquent gesture. "Oh. If it isn't our Bishop! Come here, girl, sit down! There, next to, uh, Detective Knight, you'll be alright." Olm glared at me as I sat, but I was barely paying him any attention. "What about Rook?" Mr Jumma asked.

"He got sick," I replied distractedly. "He had to go see a doctor."

Mr Jumma laughed, though I hadn't intended to be funny. "Oh, well, maybe we'll get to see him next time. We were just talking about how you got that evidence you sent to the newspapers. Even the police couldn't get their hands on something like that!"

"Mmm... Yes, it was a complicated plan." No longer able to resist, I got out my elastic, completely ignoring the cameras. L must have been the one to send that message, no doubt; no one else could have done it. But it was such an obvious lie I didn't want to believe it. If he were truly calling undercover investigators to work with him, he wouldn't announce it to the four winds, it would defeat the purpose. Therefore, the message was fake. Anyone with half a brain would have been able to figure that one out.

"Will you tell us about it?" Mr Jumma asked, feigning enthusiasm.

"No." Perhaps he aimed to bait Kira, just like with the broadcast... But that didn't make sense. Even if he fell for such an evident trap, Kira had no one to kill this time, no way to possibly react. Maybe L just wanted to scare him? There was no other explanation for such an absurd move. And there was no way Kira would believe it anyway. He was probably laughing right now. Why had L done something so obviously stupid and pointless?

This time, Mr Jumma couldn't disguise his disappointment. "Why not?"

"Because, if I tell you, I won't be able to use it again." Perhaps he really had brought more than a thousand FBI men into Japan? What did he gain by announcing it then? "What's the FBI?"

Mr Jumma was caught off-balance by my question, but he answered it anyway. "It's a secret police in America," he replied automatically. So I'd been right in my assumption: they were undercover agents. Announcing their arrival didn't make any sense! I was practically tearing my hair out from the frustration.

"Don't pay her any mind," Olm interjected, kicking me in what would look like a playful manner on camera but was in actuality quite painful. "She says random things sometimes."

For once, I was grateful to Olm. Mr Jumma left me alone for the rest of the interview, focusing his questions on Sandra, who was only eager to share. "What about the trial? Will you testify?"

She waved a hand in the air, dismissing the question. "Of course, of course. But they told us that trials take loads of time, so we aren't really worried about that for now."

I kept fumbling with the elastic, frowning.

It is difficult to explain how I felt in that moment. I had looked up to L for such a long time, admired him more than I admired anyone else in my life. He was my hero. He'd been silent for so long I expected his next move to be incredible, a masterstroke. But he did _this_, a pathetic attempt at intimidation unworthy even of the most mediocre of detectives. And, no matter how many explanations I tried to come up with, none were even remotely plausible. The best I could think of was that this was only a small part of a much larger plan he was keeping secret for the moment; but it was only a half-hearted excuse.

The more I thought about it, the more my heart sank in my chest like a stone. I'd been dying of anticipation, waiting for him to leave me wide-eyed and breathless, for a whole month. And I got this... _Pointless_ _intimidation_ _tactic_ instead. Was he even _trying_ to catch Kira?

The truth was simple, really: L had disappointed me.

* * *

_A.N: Tell me what you thought about this one :) And thanks a bunch to the anonymous nice people who reviewed!_


	10. January 8th, evening

_A.N: Thanks for the reviews, you guys rock!_

* * *

**Chapter Ten: January 8th, evening**

_He's going to test us! And if we pass it we can go to a place with other smart children! It's an orphanage, but it's much better than the Willow!_

* * *

The interview ended after two hours of absolute boredom, during which all I did was mope, and answer with monosyllables the half-hearted questions Mr Jumma occasionally chucked my way. His handshake at the end of the show was languid and indifferent, but really, I couldn't have cared less.

Olm's parents were waiting for him outside the studio. I had never seen them before. Mr and Mrs Whitebird were the complete opposite of each other, and yet exactly the same. She was tall and extremely thin, with a sharp nose and small, cruel eyes that her son had inherited; and wore a thick, expensive coat with a white fur lining at the neck that made her look like an ostrich. Mr Whitebird was short and round, with a ridiculous mustache carefully trimmed above his upper lip, and a golden walking stick which he carried like a scepter.

But they both had a way of moving, of _breathing_, that distinguished them from the people around them like rubies in a bed of coals. Wealth comes in different forms and it shapes a person in different ways, as I would learn over the course of my life. There are the _nouveaux riches,_ the normal people that, by a stroke of luck, suddenly find themselves living among the high sphere: arrogant pricks who wear their money like a disguise, like a mask. Then there are those who have earned their position through their own sweat and blood, who have worked their whole life for that wealth and wear it with a quiet pride and the calm assurance that they deserve what they have. They are the cautious ones, the ones who know the true worth of money.

Finally, there are those who are so high above everything else that no one could ever hope to understand them. They are the ones who have had money running through their veins thicker than blood for so many generations that it has become part of their very nature. They are the ones who look at the world with the knowledge that it all exists only for their entertainment, the knowledge that every building, every tree, every person was made and placed there for the sole purpose of serving them. They are the ones you can't blame for their arrogance, simply because it comes to them as naturally as breathing. They believe the world moves only because they wish it so, and should the fancy strike them, they could stop the sun's path across the sky with a snap of their fingers.

In another era, only the most ancient of noble bloodlines would ever wear this kind of aura. That was what I thought when I saw Mr and Mrs Whitebird standing there, surrounded by bodyguards, watching the people around them with an apathetic detachment. It wasn't until that moment that I realised how wealthy Olm really was. Curious, I sneaked a look at him from the corner of my eye, surprised to see his lips set in a grim line of distaste. Immediately he straightened, and, without even a glance at Sandra or me, started stalking harshly towards them. As I watched him leave I noticed for the first time a hint of the same aura as his parents set in the square of his shoulders and the tilt of his chin.

Only once he had entered the sleek, black car did he turn towards us and make a grimace through the window, shattering it all away. Sandra giggled, waving back at him.

It occured to me then how unusual Olm's behavior really was. Despite having everyhting he could ask for at his fingertips, he preferred to spend the day walking the streets, getting mud on his clothes, bullying two insignificant orphans and drooling after the third. It was an interesting realization.

But I didn't seem to be able to care about Olm, or his parents, or anything else, really. The L fiasco had me in one of my worst moods. Not that I would have cared under normal circumstances either.

"Inspector Gwenn went to the doctor with Haru," I informed tonelessly. "We have no one to take us home."

Sandra looked around. "I'll ask." She drifted over to one of the adults standing around outside, while I jammed my hands in my pockets and glared at the floor as if it were the reason why my idol had destroyed every drop of the respect and admiration I held for him. Or her.

It wasn't so bad, I tried to convince myself. He must have some sort of plan. I moodily kicked a stone away, not seeing it at all, my mind spinning in circles. Bait again? No, not without a way for Kira to react directly... No sense to throw the bait in the lake without a line attached to it.

My thoughts were interrupted by Sandra grabbing my arm and spinning me around merrily. "Bishop, stop daydreaming! We're taking a test!"

I blinked.

"This old man here is going to give us a test for detectives!" she sang, before leaning in to add excitedly, "only smart kids get to do it."

I looked at the man behind her. He was dressed in a long, thick coat and a hat over his eyes to ward against the cold, and he carried a brown case. His nose was big and rounded and a pair of small circular glasses hung off it, about to fall off. Underneath the hat and behind the glasses his eyes were a pale blue. He looked like a thinner version of Bonman. Maybe a countryman? "Are you English?" I asked.

He didn't seem too thrilled by my question. "Yes," he answered simply, in a deep voice.

"Do you know Eraldo Coil?" I don't know what prompted me to ask that question. But hearing the words English and detective so close together had that effect on me. Besides, I was still distraught and not thinking properly.

"No," he replied in the same tone, and then added, "My name is Roger. I'm here to discuss with you your future after this," he gestured sharply around himself, "is over."

"He's going to test us!" Sandra exclaimed excitedly. "And if we pass it we can go to a place with other smart children! It's an orphanage, but it's much better than the Willow!" She dropped the act to whisper seriously, "Or at least, that's what he said. Just go along with it for now."

I nodded slightly to show her I understood, and we both turned to Roger, who was watching us blankly. "Yes, that's right," he confirmed. "I'll be testing your deductive skills. The studio has lent us a room. Come with me."

Sandra sighed quietly, relieved he wasn't taking us anywhere strange, and we returned to the studio, leaving the night settling behind us. He brought us to a door guarded by two men in dark suits, and opened it to reveal an empty room, save for two desks and two chairs set far apart from each other. It reminded me oddly of the interrogation room at the station.

He told us to sit at the desks and gave each of us a paper he'd gotten out from his case, and a pen. "You have ninety minutes to complete it," was all he said, and then he went to stand quietly in a corner and didn't move. I got the impression that he didn't really like his job. Or maybe he didn't like children.

I was curious as to who he was. He showed up out of nowhere to test our deductive skills? I had expected we would receive numerous offers of adoption after we captured the Director, but this was different. He didn't want to adopt us, he was testing us to see if we were smart enough to be accepted into his orphanage. And what about Olm and Haru? We had implied, during the couple of interviews we'd had so far, that catching the Director had been a joint effort, of all four of us. If he was looking for smart kids, like he said he was, Olm and Haru should have made the list. "What about Knight and Rook?"

"Oliver Whitebird has parents, and I doubt they will die anytime soon," he replied brutally from his corner. "And the one you call Rook has been tested in a previous occasion and deemed unsuitable. Time is ticking." That was all. I frowned. Haru had been tested before? I shook my head. No, that wasn't important. I felt like there was something I was missing, some vital connection that was there but I couldn't see...

"If we pass, we'll be accepted into your orphanage? What's it called?"

He frowned at me, annoyed at being asked so many questions. "There may be other tests for you," he said curtly, his tone indicating that he wouldn't speak one more word.

Perhaps, under different circumstances, I would have caught it. Perhaps, if I had just gone one step further than Eraldo Coil, if I had asked just one more question, I would have saved myself many years of time and effort. But the suddenness and mystery of it all had me focused on questions that related only to me, and Haru, and Sandra, and what would happen if I actually passed the test, so much so that I failed to see the larger picture.

It is one of the moments I most regret in my life. Now that I look back on it, I realize that the connection was so obvious that even a blind iguana would have been able to spot it. After all, an orphanage for _detective children?_ But let us say that I was young, and inexperienced, and upset, and also slightly overconfident, and let us drop the subject.

I looked down at my paper curiously. Whatever the case, there was no harm in looking at the test, was there? Surprisingly, I found no instructions at the top of the page, no questions, no rules.

Only the patterns.

Pattern recognition was the basis of a detective's thinking. A pattern was what had led L to believe that Kira couldn't kill him, a pattern was what had led Jun to uncover the Director's crimes. The test consisted of twenty patterns, made with varying shapes, lines, and dots. After each pattern there was a set of multiple options. What we had to do was obvious: choose the one that would complete the pattern. I grinned. Deductive skills, he'd said. But, compared with real life, it was nothing more than a child's puzzle.

The first five patterns were easier than breathing. A toddler could have done them - square, triangle, circle, square, triangle, circle. The next five were harder, but each of them barely took me more than a couple of minutes to solve.

Pattern eleven and onwards, though, were a completely different story. They were grids, and they had squares and half-squares colored in and dots drawn in and blanks and different colors. The abrupt change caught me off-balance. After ten minutes of looking at pattern eleven I finally admitted that it was a whole new level, took a deep breath, blocked out everything around me and turned my mind into a flat, smooth, undisturbed mirror. My fingers found my elastic subconsciously and I dove straight into the puzzle, the same way I lost myself in a chess game.

Forty minutes later I had worked my way up to number sixteen. But this one I simply couldn't seem to solve. When I thought I caught a glimpse of the pattern, it contradicted itself and I had to start again from the beginning. The same applied to number seventeen. I couldn't seem to fully catch them, so I decided on the answers based on pure intuition.

But at least I had intuitions. Eighteen, Nineteen and Twenty were absurd. I felt like I was staring at a mass of disorganized chaos, and it frustrated me. I couldn't make out anything, there wasn't a single solid square I could predict in that grid. It drove me mad, making me grind my teeth in frustration. I'd grown accustomed to being right, to having all my predictions be fulfilled. Bonman's voice at the back of my mind said he needed to empty my cup again.

There simply was no way to find the answer to those three. Five minutes before the end of the test, I gave up, _for now_, and leaned back in my chair. My narrowed eyes raked over the previous seventeen patterns. Then I breathed in again... And filled in all the wrong answers.

Let me explain. I was in a dark mood, and I still didn't trust Roger. Besides, I didn't want to go anywhere if Sandra wasn't coming with me. As I looked at her from the corner of my eye, her eyebrows pulled together in a confused frown, I knew she hadn't made it beyond pattern ten. And number eleven was the marker; the rest didn't matter, they were complements. If you worked out number eleven, you passed the test. I knew, by her expression, that she hadn't. She wouldn't pass. And if she didn't, then I wouldn't be any different.

I guess it was just proof of my loyalty towards her. In my place, Olm and Haru would have done the same thing. It just didn't make sense to be separated from the one person who had protected me, been with me for as long as I could remember.

So I flunked that test on purpose.

Later that night, while I lay awake in my bed in Gwenn's house, I remembered Bonman again. _Has anyone ever offered to adopt you_? My thoughts whirled with images of him, and a thousand FBI investigators, and how writers got their best ideas right before going to sleep. I closed my eyes, and for the first time, I didn't visualize a chess board, but patterns eighteen, nineteen, and twenty, side by side.

That night I dreamt about those three patterns, and a capital letter L in a blank screen.


	11. January 9th

_A.N.: This one was a bitch to write, you can't imagine. I apologize for taking so long. I also have the feeling it will be kind of boring, and for that I apologize in advance._

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: January 9th**

_L already has a suspect. And he's right._

* * *

Sandra and I sat side by side on a green couch, waiting for Haru to re-emerge from the clinic. I was still brooding, not even interested in the chess board placed in a corner of the waiting room. I could see from here that some of the pieces were missing anyway. Behind the desk, a blonde receptionist almost as bored as me yawned loudly at her computer screen.

Haru had been here yesterday already, while we were in the interview and taking the test. Early this morning, Inspector Gwenn had taken him to the clinic again, and asked if we wanted to come. Sandra immediately replied with the affirmative.

I swung my legs in time with the ticking of the clock, staring vacantly at the clinic's closed door, my mind in an odd lethargic state. I was depressed. That was what was happening to me. I was depressed, despite the success of the Willow case.

"I wonder what Haru is doing in there," Sandra commented. She had been trying to draw me into a conversation for the past forty minutes, but I wasn't being very cooperative. "What do you think he's doing?"

"Seeing a specialist," I replied morosely.

She rolled her eyes. "I mean, what do you think they're doing? Just talking? Hey," she tried for one last time, "how about you teach me how to play chess?"

I perked up instantly, looking at her for a moment before crying "Okay!" and jumping off the couch. She followed, watching curiously as I arranged the pieces. "More pawns are supposed to go here, but they're missing," I explained excitedly. "The King's the one with the pointy crown, and the Queen the one with the round one."

"It's like armies lining up," she observed.

I beamed. She understood! "Exactly."

She already knew the names of the pieces and how they moved from watching me play before, except for the Knight, which everybody had trouble with at the beginning. I wasn't discouraged, on the contrary: I was thrilled that she had taken an interest in one of my major occupations, to the point that I forgot my depression. Maybe, when she became good enough, we would be able to play games together... "So, it can jump over pieces?" she frowned, confused.

I nodded. "Yes. You want to place it as centered in the board as you can, so it has a wider range..." I trailed off as the door to the street opened, and a big man in a coat stepped through.

"Bonman?" Sandra exclaimed, surprised to see him here. I was also mildly curious. This clinic was as far away from the Willow as physically possible within the city limits. How had he found us?

He took off his hat, dampened by the snow, and smiled briefly at us as he placed it in the coat-hanger. "Hello," he greeted kindly. "I didn't see you yesterday, so I thought I'd drop by. They told me at the station you'd be here." I didn't believe him. Policemen didn't usually divulge information so easily.

It had been quite a long time since I'd seen Bonman. The Willow case had kept me occupied for the better part of the Christmas holidays, and the work had multiplied since we solved it, with interviews and declarations and newspapers and police interrogations. But I hadn't forgotten what he'd said on Christmas day.

Sandra grinned, jumping from the chair, forgetting the chess board entirely. "Did you bring candy?"

Bonman's blue eyes twinkled as he got out his hand from his pocket, slowly oppening his palm to reveal strawberry gummis, Sandra's favorite. She squealed and happily took them from him, wolfing them down as if she hadn't eaten for months. He watched her for a moment before plomping down on the chair opposite me with a long, drawn out sigh. He glanced at the board and distractedly started putting the pieces back.

I was looking at Sandra with jealousy. Bonman noticed and passed me a Rainbow Jam, which I immediately started licking blissfully. "How did you find us?" I asked, my tongue playing with the juicy, gooey substance.

Bonman sighed loudly again. "I already told you: they told me at the station." Upon my cynical look he added with a small grin, "or maybe I went there for another matter, and overheard some conversations I wasn't meant to."

"Oh." What other matter? His gaze trailed to Sandra, happily eating on the couch. Ah. "I haven't told her anything yet," I informed, savoring the last of the jam in one particularly long and tasty slurp, before proceeding with the finger-licking ritual.

He jumped slightly, but quickly regained his composure. "Why not? It's been two weeks." He sounded more curious than affronted.

"I thought there were more chances she'd accept if you told her directly." Sandra probably wouldn't even believe me, anyway. And she'd never liked to hear news second-hand in general. She always had to be first. If I told her Bonman wanted to adopt us, she'd start wondering why he'd talked to me before her.

I'd grown more familiar with the concept of adoption over the last few days. The idea of a family, with a father and a mother, was strange, but after my experience in Inspector Gwenn's house I was starting to see the appeal. She had told us many people had offered to adopt us, a lot of them very rich, rich enough to guarantee a bright future for us. But I'd decided that, if it truly was to happen in the end, I wanted my father to be Bonman. He'd been the first after all, and he was probably the only adult who truly knew me. If Sandra came with me, of course.

He looked at me pensively. "You can make your own decisions, Jaylin. You don't need Sandra for everything."

I froze. Bonman smiled sadly, as if he'd been expecting my reaction. "I wasn't referring to this case in particular. She's a lovely girl. I'd love to have her in my family too."

I breathed out, feeling how the weight in my lungs lifted. He looked at me for a moment longer, then at the pieces. I'd always thought of Bonman as a kind old man whose happiness lay in watching children laugh. But the Willow case had sharpened my mind, especially in things that concerned adults. I was starting to realize that Bonman was quite intelligent, as well as kind. "Well, since we don't have enough pieces for a game, let's learn the Spanish opening," he proposed.

The Spanish opening was simple, really. It didn't allow for as many variants, as many nuances, as many continuations as the Sicilian defense and the anti-Sicilian. It was very straightforwards and blunt, and I grasped its advantages and disadvantages quickly. In less than half an hour we had already devised a dozen ways to counter it effectively. Bored, Bonman proposed we play a limped game, without pawns and bishops, since there weren't enough of them.

I would be at a disadvantage. Bishops were the pieces I knew how to use best. All my favorite checkmates involved what I had dramatically baptized the white diagonal of death and the dark diagonal of torture. But it was an interesting challenge, so I accepted anyway.

"How was the interview?" Bonman asked conversationally as we played.

My face instantly turned sombre. "Disappointing."

He looked at me, surprised by my dry reply. "What happened?"

I frowned. I'd dwelled in the event for a whole day now, and I still couldn't get it out of my head. "L did something which I can only classify as desperate or stupid. Or both."

He leaned forwards, his clear eyes lighting up at the mention of L. Lately, he seemed as curious as I was - or used to be - about his identity. "He did?"

"You didn't watch it?"

He waved a hand in the air, dismissing the question. "I was away. I asked my family to tape the interview," he winked, "but I haven't watched it yet. What did he do?"

So I told him about the message. He listened to my thoughts silently, and in the end agreed with me: what L had done was unworthy of him. "Things are looking good for Kira," he added pensively after a while. "With L not doing anything, and the growing support... I came across this internet page recently, called the Kira Kingdom." He snorted before turning serious. "More and more people are facilitating the identities of criminals now. And he started punishing minor criminals too, you know. A purse-snatcher and an embezzler died of heart attacks yesterday."

I paused momentarily, my interest piked. "That's strange," I mumbled. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "I assume he decided to widen his hunting range."

I slipped into Detective Bishop's skin almost without noticing, like a second nature. I liked the world through Bishop's eyes; it was orderly, and every mystery had a solution. Instantly I realized that Bonman was wrong. It was too petty and sudden, and unlike Kira to change the punishment pattern out of the blue. There had to be another reason. Maybe as retaliation... No, he wouldn't stray from his beliefs like that.

"Speak clearly, Jaylin. And look at people when they talk to you," he scolded, mildly annoyed. Oh. Had I been talking out loud?

I tore my gaze away from my elastic which I had started twisting furiously, and looked him straight in his blue eyes. It wasn't something I did normally, looking people straight in the eye, and I found it uncomfortable, but managed to hold the contact unblinkingly. "The criminals Kira has punished until now were all charged with murder. And not any type of murder... He didn't target people who've killed in self-defense or by accident. He only punishes cold-blooded, unjustified killers."

Bonman tapped his nose, wondering what I was up to. "Until now."

"Since he started he's gone through the trouble of actually searching for these killers, of classifying them, of judging them. He doesn't want to hurt innocent people or people whose crimes aren't grave enough to deserve death. Why would he change now?"

"Maybe he got bored," he proposed. "It happens with serial killers."

"No," I bulled ahead. "He's kept to a pattern, he has a base, a concept of justice... Which is quite childish, too."

Bonman smiled slightly, amused at my arrogance. "You're a child, Jaylin. What's your concept of justice?" Before I could reply, he cut me off. "And anyway, I'd have to disagree. He killed Lind L. Taylor, which, as far as he knew, hadn't committed any crime at all. He isn't above targeting innocent people, like you say."

I frowned. "That was different. He wasn't _punishing_ Lind L. Taylor in cold blood; he attacked him in a fit of rage. It is only further proof of his childish personality. He lost his cool after L provoked him." I pursed my lips. "The murders he considers punishment only affect top-rate criminals. Normal people have nothing to fear... Ah."

He just waited patiently for me to elaborate.

"That was his objective from the beginning: to have the crowds adore him," I whispered, almost to myself. My features gradually twisted into a mask of disgust. "He wants to be seen as some sort of God."

The realisation was like a gravity shift in my brain. I'd often wondered why Kira didn't simply use his powers for personal gain, instead of executing criminals. Until today, I'd _tolerated_ him, thinking that, no matter how warped he was, at least he had strong, grounded moral beliefs - but now I realized it: those were only the cover. He wasn't killing those criminals because he thought it would bring justice, not entirely. _Justice_ wasn't what he was truly after. He wanted _fame_. He wanted everyone to know about his existence. He wanted to be _worshipped_. That was why he made sure to choose the most despicable of criminals, people who, in the eyes of the crowd, deserved to die - to win the masses over.

I felt like laughing. Now not only L had disappointed me, but Kira wasn't what he had seemed either. At least, before, I'd thought he had a shred of dignity, of integrity, when in reality he was just another deluded megalomaniac who wanted to rule the world. It was an enormous disappointment, almost as great as L's. It seemed like the universe was bent on destroying the buildings of my ideas, all my preconceived notions, stone by stone. L wasn't as great a detective, and Kira wasn't as exceptional a villain.

Bonman made a noise of assent, bringing me back to the conversation. "I see. If he started punishing mere thieves all of a sudden, the crowds would turn on him, and he doesn't want that."

I nodded, pushing my feelings aside to leave room for my thoughts. "He didn't kill those two as punishment, they didn't deserve to die. I was thinking it could be a sort of retaliation against L's message, a counter-threat," I explained. "Something like, _if you keep investigating me, I'll start massacring innocent people_. But then if he did that, he would lose the support of the masses too. He'd become a vulgar murderer, hated and chased. And that's the contrary of what he's trying to achieve; he wouldn't risk it."

"Mmmm." Bonman stayed silent for a long while, thinking about the implications of my reasoning. The chessboard lay long forgotten between us. "Not punishment. Not a threat to L. Then why?"

I licked my lips. "He was forced to." Upon his blank stare I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. "Somehow, L's message forced him to act. The two events are linked; it is too much of a coincidence that they happened on the same day. L acted out of character, and, shortly after, Kira acted out of character, both of them for no apparent reason. Perhaps the message wasn't so pointless after all. There must be an explanation that makes sense." I frowned. There was a piece missing. There was a crucial bit of data missing, a necessary piece to complete the puzzle. Without it, I couldn't see the wider picture at all...

Bonman nudged me gently. "Kira's a psychopath, you realize. His actions don't have to make sense."

"But the fact that he has kept to a pattern until now does indicate a semblance of rationality," I protested.

Bonman smiled. "You aren't an expert psychologist, Jaylin," he reminded me.

I conceded his point grudgingly. I was still too young and inexperienced to pretend to know the workings of the human mind. Kira really could be completely irrational for all I knew. Perhaps he wasn't even _human_. After all, with a power like his... But if L was really fighting some sort of higher being, his chances of victory were dishearteningly low. And besides, there was the judging, the childishness. Kira displayed very human emotions so far.

I pushed back the idea of a real murdering God out there somewhere, focusing on L's message. There must have been something there, something meant only for Kira's eyes, some sort of bait, something that made him kill two minor criminals. "Did they appear in the news?" I asked distractedly.

"I don't know. I wasn't watching; only read it in the paper this morning," he mumbled under his beard. "But I'd say probably yes. It is pretty clear that his main source of information is the news."

Perhaps I was looking at it the wrong way. What if the message and the murders weren't linked by cause and effect, but were both effects of a previous cause? Something that would compel L to broadcast, something that would pressure Kira to kill outside his pattern...

The answer came to me in a bolt of lightning.

It wasn't the most likely answer. Inside, I still had my doubts, even as I examined the finer details of it. The cynical part of my mind decided that it was too good to be true, and told me that I was letting myself be carried away by my wishes, that I was fooling myself. And yet I couldn't stop the ear splitting grin from spreading across my face, my fingers from twitching excitedly, my heart from quickening in my chest.

I looked up at Bonman slowly.

L hadn't disappointed after all. There _was_ something else behind the message.

"L already has a suspect," I breathed. "And he's right."

Sandra was the one to break the stunned silence, to my immense surprise. I'd forgotten all about her during our conversation. She stood directly behind me, her hands on the backrest of my chair. "That's a bit farfetched, Detective Bishop. How did you draw that conclusion?"

"Perhaps I'm wrong," I admitted. "But if you think about it, it makes sense. L's message was like the Lind L. Taylor broadcast from before, not an intimidation tactic. He wanted to observe Kira's reaction."

Bonman stayed silent for a moment, looking at me seriously and tapping his nose. "But there was no way he could observe any kind of reaction... Unless he was observing directly." His expression cleared. "I see."

My grin was so wide I probably looked like a younger version of Mr Jumma. "Exactly. He was watching Kira in person at the moment of the broadcast, judging his immediate response. He already had a suspect, and he was watching him."

Sandra frowned. "But that doesn't mean he's right."

"There's the second part," I replied, nearly bouncing on my chair. "The suspect was forced to kill those two minor criminals to clear away suspicion."

Even as I said it I saw the doubt in her eyes. Bonman didn't say anything this time, less ready to accept that part of the theory. I made a dissatisfied noise and looked down at the chessboard, sharply moving my pieces. Perhaps I should have kept it to myself.

"The usual criminals died yesterday too," she stated slowly. "As always, one death row inmate each hour on the dot. If L had been watching Kira, don't you think those would have stopped?"

I pursed my lips. Bonman and I had already discussed Kira controlling the time of death - what other message could he be trying to send by killing them exactly on the hour? Technically, her argument was invalid. But her mind had already determined that my idea was unlikely, and any effort from my part to convince her otherwise wouldn't be viewed objectively. It wasn't like I could show her definite proof either.

But I knew I was right. L was the best after all. If he suspected someone of something, then that person was most likely guilty. I looked at Bonman expectantly. "It could be," he admitted, avoiding my eyes. "But it does seem a bit far-fetched."

No. It fit all the facts perfectly. L was still the genius I thought he was, and, just like that, all my frustration and anger against him were swiped away like leaves in the wind. He had already found Kira, so quickly! But until I discovered determining evidence somewhere to prove it... "It was just a thought," I said quietly, dropping the subject. "Maybe you're right."

Bonman chose that moment to tell Sandra about the adoption, and there were no more talks of L and Kira that day.


	12. April 2nd

_A.N.: Sorry? Désolée? Lo siento? My internet crashed, which is why I took so long, and also why I didn't reply to your reviews, but I will, tomorrow. I thought you'd rather get a chapter than a review reply._

_Anyway, Internet at home is still not working, so next chapter might also take a bit longer than normal. Forgive me?_

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: April 2nd**

_Call Eraldo Coil.  
_

* * *

The next three months were a blur. Bonman swept us away from Gwenn's house into a world we didn't even know existed, a world of comfort, dresses and manners. Whenever we had asked him what he did for a living before, Bonman had always smiled and replied 'I just make candy.' Apparently, that meant he was the owner of a great multinational sugar and cocoa company.

I shouldn't have been surprised. He lived in the neighborhood of the Willow after all, like Olm's parents, so it was only logical that he had money. I guess he was so different from all the millionaires we crossed on the street that I never thought to put them in the same category. In any case, I was incredulous when he brought us to an old, gigantic English style mansion but, like all children, I adapted quickly, and Sandra and I set to explore it as our new playground without many qualms.

I realized then that I didn't know a thing about Bonman, beyond that he was a great chess payer and successful candy-maker. That first night in his home I questioned him intensively about his past, but I only concluded that evasive answers could be added to the list of his many talents. He implied that his wealth came from his mother's side of the family, and that was all. Didn't he have a wife? Oh, I've thought about it. Where was he raised? In more places than you'll ever visit, Jaylin. Why did he settle in Japan? Life just landed me here. And he laughed, amused by my frustration. "Come on, girl, if I don't make myself sound at least a little bit mysterious you'll get bored of me very quickly."

Despite my immersion in this environment of luxury my daily life didn't really change all that much, besides the fact that now my clothes were warm and actually fit me. Perhaps the biggest difference was the absence of any other children in the mansion: Bonman, Sandra and I lived alone, save for a manservant named Hans who was so quiet one didn't even notice when he entered a room. But I still escaped classes to go play with Sandra and Olm. I still got scrapes and bruises from our exploring and returned home tired and hungry. I still spent hours staring at a chessboard, imagining battles and treasons.

So far, I liked this adoption business.

In those three months I solved patterns eighteen and nineteen. It took countless hours of rolling around in my new, huge bed at night, many chess games with Bonman, and so much winding on my elastic that it broke and I had to find a new one, but I solved them.

Eighteen was on the afternoon exactly fifty days after the test, while I sat on the small bridge crossing a creek in the mansion's garden, watching the water flow. I don't know for how long I sat there, just staring at the swirls and little jumps the water did, my mind blank. Then I thought about the pattern again, and it seemed to fit with the swirling of the water, and it was suddenly so obvious I couldn't understand how I hadn't seen it before.

Nineteen was harder. After dinner, Bonman and Sandra started discussing a movie or architecture (I wasn't listening) when the brilliant idea that the pattern was three dimensional came to me. I was used to thinking in only two dimensions, most likely because of chess, and I never considered that they would draw a three dimensional pattern on a two dimensional paper. As I tested out the theory, developing the structure in my mind, I realized that it wasn't only three dimensional, but folded onto itself in a layered disposition, like an origami. When I figured it out I was smiling like an idiot for a whole week.

Twenty was still impossible. In fact, I would never find the answer to that one myself, L would give it to me. But all in due time.

* * *

On the downside, the media were beyond irritating. They were hateful. They didn't dare stalk us through our high-class neighborhood, but Haru, who still lived with Inspector Gwenn on the other side of the city, had them on his back twenty-four seven.

It interfered with his recovery. Or rather, the cameras evaporated all the progress he'd made with us. He started building forts again and refusing to come out or let anyone in. It didn't help that the one time we managed to get him outside, he was assaulted by a torrent of microphones and broke down again. Inspector Gwenn stopped taking him to the clinic, as the risk wasn't worth the meager benefits it represented.

Jun was seething. No sooner was he discharged from the hospital he stormed over and ordered the media to clear off, fruitlessly, of course. He even swore under his breath when he thought we weren't listening, which was funny because he always scolded us for swearing. He was the only one Haru let inside his forts anymore, and when he emerged he was thoughtful, staring out the window without moving for hours. One time I sat next to him, breaking the daze he was in with a very pragmatic question. "Is he gong to testify?"

His black eyes shifted to me and a small crease formed between his eyebrows. Jun had always been very expressive with his face, but now it was cold like a block of ice. "He says he doesn't want to." His mouth became a thin line. "And I don't blame him. Why can't they leave him alone? Did you even know Haru before that man... did that to him? And then these motherf- these idiots with their cameras are just..." He seemed to choke.

I remained silent. Sandra was the one who knew what to do to comfort people. I only felt a fraction of the emotions Jun seemed so passionate about. To my eyes, the media storm would pass, Haru would become his old self again, and L would catch Kira. Was I being too optimistic?

"We'll protect him," he abruptly stated, his fingers clenching into a tight fist. "We'll protect him till all of this passes." And he went back to staring out the window absently.

Jun wasn't the only angry one. Sandra was furious. At first she had been glad for all the attention, but soon she grew bored and weary. They made the news of the trial sound almost as important as the Kira deaths, and as soon as she realized what was happening she refused to participate in any more TV interviews or make any more declarations. "It's ridiculous!" she exclaimed one time, at the edge of her patience. "I turn the TV on, and it's the Willow Case or the Chess Detectives! They forget that there's a serial killer loose in our city!" She angrily pushed one of her black strands away and wiped her eyes.

I smiled slightly at the name, but didn't look up from my chess game. The Chess Detectives. Heh heh. "It makes sense."

She whirled towards me. "It makes sense? Ignoring the Kira deaths makes _sense_? Not talking about a problem doesn't make it go away!"

Sometimes, I sincerly believed they ought to make Sandra President. "No, but it helps people feel safe. What would you rather make a report about? A phantom murderer who can kill people without even touching them, or four brave children unveiling a massive scale corruption scheme?" I moved another piece calmly forwards. "Besides, it works against Kira. He wants attention and recognition, like a baby. By stealing the spotlight we are effectively hindering him from his goal."

She thought about it. That was what I liked about Sandra: she was always ready to listen and incorporate different points of view into her thinking. Not like Olm, who was like a one-minded bull, or Haru, who was too scared to have a thought of his own. "I guess you're right." She frowned. "But still."

She had a point: but still. If Kira wasn't talked about, people would come to subconsciously start tolerating him. They would start to think it was 'normal' for criminals to spontaneously die in their cells. I didn't expect L to use the media anymore to draw him out, now that he had a suspect, but still, it would be nice to know how things were going. I was starting to run out of mysteries to keep myself busy.

At one point, I started wishing that something, anything, would happen, that a new puzzle would come my way. After the taste of a real case, our make-believe games never captured my interest for long. I wanted a new, a dangerous, an exciting, case.

* * *

I got what I asked for, but not in the way I envisioned.

The legal machine, pressured by the public, set to work surprisingly quickly. I'd heard of people who had to wait more than two years for a simple divorce to be processed, but in just three months we were called to the courtroom to testify. It wasn't for the Director's trial yet, but for the members of the awards committee who had accepted bribes, the ones on our list. I was internally glad. Haru had to take it one step at a time. He wasn't ready for the Director yet.

The night before the trial I asked Bonman if he could take us to Inspector Gwenn's place again, so we could all sleep next to each other, like we used to in the orphanage. He fixed me with his blue eyes for a second, guessing at my motive, before nodding wordlessly.

Haru was hidden inside his castle of bedsheets, a torchlight hanging from the ceiling acting as the lamp. After speaking to him from the closed window for half an hour, he grudgingly let me come in, pulling the sheets aside so I could pass. I placed orange worms in front of him as I sat down, and he fell on them like a voracious ant, sucking on them with disgusting noises.

I looked around curiously. He had perfected building forts down to an art. Now ropes and pulleys held up the sheets and opened and closed the windows, and he even had small furniture and decorations. "What's that?" I asked, nodding to a pile of small, colored blocks lying in a corner.

He looked at them and smiled. "They're called Lego. I'm building a miniature castle inside the bigger castle." He crawled over to them and started searching through the pile, before holding up a red block proudly. It had a yellow smiley face drawn on it. "This one's my favorite." He set it down and started piling up the blocks on top of each other, absorbed.

"What did the specialist say?" I asked after a while, more out of curiosity than anything else.

He jumped, as if he'd forgotten I was there, but then his tense muscles relaxed. "T-That I have something something and agoraphobia. Which is fear of wide places and going outside. He says that's why I build forts. B-but he's wrong. I build them because I like to." He looked down at the pile of Lego, his hands trembling a bit, and abruptly changed the subject. "Jun says I'll be safe."

"You will," I assured.

"But he also says there'll be c-cameras tomorrow."

I didn't reply.

"He says there'll be lots of people."

"Just one hour," I cut him off abruptly. He looked up at me, eyes huge and black. "Just one hour," I repeated more softly, "and then you can come back here. You only have to answer some questions for one hour." Perhaps if I gave him a concrete, tangible goal he would find it easier. To be honest, I didn't like the idea of appearing on a public trial and cameras either. One hour, and it would be over. It was my goal, too.

He swallowed and lowered his head, rubbing his arms where the scars were. "A-Are they gonna be about..."

"I don't think so," I replied, understanding what he meant. "They'll just ask you about the evidence and how we got it."

He relaxed visibly. He stopped the rubbing and no longer tried to bite off his lower lip. "If I testify, t-they will go to jail," he said, smiling hesitantly at me. "And they won't hurt anyone else."

I'd underestimated Haru. He was braver than I'd given him credit for. I could see in his eyes that, despite the deep-rooted fear, he knew that it had to be done, and he was ready to do it.

In Chess, Rooks were hidden away in a corner of the chessboard, behind the Bishop, behind the Knight. They were usually the last pieces in the whole game to be moved. But, aside from the Queen, they were the most powerful pieces, and when they _were_ moved they became decisive and indispensable. Perhaps I had inadvertently named Haru with a startling accuracy, or perhaps he had grown to fit his name. I grinned. "Exactly. They won't hurt anyone else."

* * *

Unfortunately, that night, Haru went missing.

Sandra and I had been sleeping in the same room as him, and, when we woke up, he simply wasn't there anymore. He wasn't downstairs either. He wasn't anywhere in the house.

He was kidnapped, that was what they said. Jun ran around in circles, tearing his hair out, screaming he was going to kill that fucking sonnovabitch Director. Inspector Gwenn, after upturning every stone around the house trying to find him, called the station and ordered them to start a full-blown search, with patrol cars and everything. She was surprisingly calm, but then again, she was a policeman. Sandra, for the first time, was rooted in place, not knowing what to do. Bonman arrived as soon as he heard the news and took her and me back to the safety of his well-guarded mansion before I could observe any more reactions.

The media, of course, had caught wind of the event and were biting at our heels, their vans racing behind our limousine. Hans had to speed to shake them off.

The trials would be postponed, I thought. The Director and some of his allies would be put under twenty four hour watch on suspicions of kidnapping, but the trials would have to wait until Haru was found again.

I wasn't convinced. I didn't believe someone had managed to break in and out of a policeman's house, holding a child under his arm, without anybody in the house noticing. I also found it odd that the kidnapper had taken only Haru, when the other two children in the room were also key pieces of the Willow Case. But it had been done, and I had to discover who had done it. And fast.

This time, Haru's life was on the line. I slipped into Detective Bishop's clear, logical mind to try to push back the fear churning in my stomach. Brutally I realized that it wouldn't do. I had gotten what I'd asked for, but on a whole new level that I hadn't bargained for, as if fate was laughing at me. I couldn't afford playing detective anymore. This time, it was much more serious, because Haru could be dead. We needed outside help.

"Call Eraldo Coil," I concluded, watching the trees race past the car window.

Besides me, Bonman let out a long sigh. "Yes," he agreed, "it is a good idea."


	13. April 2nd, afternoon

**Chapter Thirteen: April 2nd, afternoon**

_Let us say, for argument's sake, that I'm not Coil. Who do you think I am?_

* * *

Bonman and I had already investigated Eraldo Coil as the second greatest detective in the world. Contacting him made sense for two reasons: firstly, he was after money. He only took cases that paid tremendously well. This could be unfortunate for middle class citizens, but for us, it was good news, because it meant we could be sure he'd take our case. We had money to spare.

Secondly, Coil specialized in finding missing people. He had recently rescued the famous Florian children from a human trafficking mafia, and found Adele, a woman presumed dead for five years, in only four days of investigation.

L had obviously cracked harder cases; he was number one after all. But Bonman said that he was busy with the Kira case and wouldn't be able to help us. I disagreed: if he was worth his reputation, he should have no trouble handling two cases at once. The real problem was that L jumped in when it pleased him. If he wasn't interested in a case, he wouldn't take it. If he thought it too obvious or unimportant, he wouldn't take it. Nobody knew how to contact L, and I couldn't afford to wait for him to notice Haru, we didn't have that kind of time.

So we decided Eraldo Coil was the better option. But, as we got to work that afternoon, we realized that he wasn't that easy to contact either. After hours of searching with the computer, making phone calls, and shifting through records, Bonman sat back down on the couch in front of us, bewildered. "I don't understand," he mused, off-balance. "He's almost as hard to reach as L. Perhaps we should try Deneuve, or another professional." It was puzzling. L was the one supposed to be unreachable, not Coil. And every hour we wasted trying to find him Haru could be getting further and further away from us.

I was about to reply with the affirmative when Sandra's cell phone went off. She'd recently gotten it for her tenth birthday and hardly parted with it, not even for sleeping. It had become her most prized possession.

I couldn't understand the words said from the other end of the line, but the angry buzzing voice undoubtedly belonged to Olm. "Yes, he's been kidnapped," Sandra replied. More buzzing. "Knight!" she snapped harshly. "He's in danger!" A silence, and then something that sounded like a question. "We're thinking of calling Detective Coil for help," she informed, "but we don't know how."

Bonman took the phone from her and pressed a button, then placed it on the table. Now Olm's voice resounded loudly in the entire room. "Detective Coil? Eraldo Coil?" he repeated, surprised. "My parents hired him once."

There was a stunned silence, which Olm took as an invitation to keep talking. "It was, like, a dozen years ago, when my older sister ran away from home. They can't seem to forget that episode." Sandra and I looked at each other. Olm had an older sister?

She recovered quickly. "Can you ask them to contact him again? We need him. The police have been searching for hours and they can't find Haru."

Olm had no reason to refuse. It would hardly mean any effort on his part to ask his parents to put us in contact with Coil. So I was surprised when he replied with a very dry and definite, "No."

Sandra frowned. "What? Why?"

"I'm not asking them for anything." His voice was harsh. "Ever."

I remembered Mr and Mrs Whitebird from the studio. It was true that they didn't give off the impression of being particularly nice people, but still. He was fighting with his parents, so he would do nothing to save our friend? "You're so infantile," I spat. "Grow up."

"The weirdo's listening?" he buzzed, incredulous. "Mind your own business. I wasn't talking to you, you freak."

"It is my business," I replied icily. It wasn't like me to lose my temper, but the situation had me on edge, and having to deal with Olm on top of it all was close to becoming the last straw. I had never felt such a violent urge to murder him as I did then. Bonman, surprised by my tone, shot me a curious look from the other couch, and I breathed in, trying to remain calm.

"Please, my brave Knight," Sandra tried in her most persuasive voice. "I'll be very grateful to you if you could help us."

Another silence. Olm seemed to mow the sentence over in his head, again and again, to see how it sounded. Finally he sighed. "You don't know them," he mumbled, before adding in a very self-important tone, as if he were doing us a great favor "Mmm, well. I'll see what I can do."

Disgusting. It was disgusting. The only thing Olm was good for was being manipulated.

* * *

So that was how, three hours later, we were all sitting around Sandra's phone in the living room, supposedly waiting for a call from Eraldo Coil. I twisted my elastic impatiently. This would be my first time speaking to a private detective (Inspector Gwenn was a detective at the police station, so she didn't count). To be honest, I was nervous. Probably not as much as if I'd been about to speak with L himself, but still. Eraldo Coil was the second greatest detective in the world, the man closest to L in terms of skill. It was exciting.

When the phone rang we all jumped. At first, no one made a move to answer it, so after locking eyes with Bonman, I reached forwards and pressed the same button he had before, speakerphone, it was called.

"This is Coil."

The voice was male, and spoke Japanese perfectly, without even an accent. I started chewing on my hair, the only noise in the dead silence.

As nobody replied, he continued speaking. "I understand you want me to find the child named Haru who was kidnapped this morning in Japan."

Bonman cleared his throat. "That's right," he confirmed.

"You must be Bonman, the millionaire," the voice kept going. It was so firm, so confident, without a hint of hesitation. It spoke like it was merely stating facts, and it grounded me. All my fears and nervousness about Haru were pushed back by the sureness of that voice, and I could think clearly again. I had never expected Coil to have this effect on me. "Are you alone?"

"No," Bonman replied. "Three children are listening too."

"Yes, I supposed so. Queen, Knight and Bishop, was it? I'd like to speak with them. Could you leave the room, please?"

It was a strange request to ask the only adult in the room to leave, but Bonman did it anyway. We crossed gazes one last time before he closed the door behind him. What did Coil have to say to us that Bonman couldn't hear? I was dying of curiosity.

The phone had all my attention. It felt awkward, talking to the small, flowery pink device, without a face behind it. I'd always assumed we'd meet Eraldo Coil in person.

"You know about us?" Sandra asked as soon as the door closed.

"I saw you on TV," the voice admitted. "I've actually been following the Willow Case with interest. I hope you don't mind I use the same method you did to obtain evidence."

She was surprised. I wasn't, not so much. If he was truly the second greatest, it wasn't all that strange that he'd figured it out. "We haven't told anyone how we did it yet," Sandra observed, puzzled.

"Yes, I know. Waiting until the trial is a good idea. But I'm curious, which of you three came up with it?"

She frowned. "What?"

"Which of you three drew the plan to get the memory stick?" he repeated calmly. He spoke like we were discussing the weather and he had all the time in the world, not like a child had just been kidnapped. And I could tell by the flash in her eyes that Sandra was angry. "I don't see how that is relevant to Haru's disappearance." Coil didn't reply, merely waited. "Alright," she huffed. "We all brainstormed together. I couldn't tell you who got the original idea."

Olm started shifting on the couch impatiently. "Will you take the case?"

"Mmmmm... I think I will," Coil replied. "But I can't go to Japan right now. I'm currently working on another case that requires my presence in London."

Olm frowned. "Then how -"

"You three will be my avatars," he interrupted. "This is why I wanted to speak to you. You will be my eyes and my hands. You have already proven your worth as investigators, so I know I can trust you. You will interrogate people and examine reports and tell me what you find. I will solve the case from here."

Sandra was ecstatic about this idea. She promised we would do our best and Coil gave us a number to contact him with twice a day. They talked a bit about Haru, and when he finally hung up she ran out of the room, Olm hot at her heels, crying something about going to the crime scene. In their enthusiasm they forgot the phone on the table.

I remained seated on the couch, staring at it somberly. Coil had forbidden us from writing the number down, but I'd never needed to write things down to remember them. I picked the phone up and dialed.

"This is Coil."

"I doubt it," I replied flatly.

I heard a slurping noise from the other end, and it reminded me I had a Rainbow Jam in my pocket, so I took it out and unwrapped it with one hand as I waited for his reply. "Bishop, I assume. So you're the one who drew the plan." It wasn't a question, merely a statement, and it made me wonder to what point he had predicted my reaction. "You didn't speak a word or ask a question earlier. I assure you, I am the detective known as Eraldo Coil."

"The real Eraldo Coil wouldn't have a problem with meeting us," I observed grimly. "I know you're in Japan, probably right here in Tokyo, so why did you lie?" And if it wasn't Coil, then who was I speaking with? My heart started pounding faster than normal.

I heard the slurping noise again. "What makes you think I lied?"

So he wasn't admitting to anything yet. He wanted to play. Well then. I'd never rejected a game before. "You said you saw us on TV; but the Willow Case was only broadcasted in national channels. Therefore you are in Japan, and lied about being in London. Your excuse not to meet us is invalid." He could have come up with a better, more careful lie, and I wouldn't have noticed anything wrong.

There was a silence. "Mmm, that's clever," he finally said, but his tone was devoid of any admiration. I pursed my lips, and then narrowed my eyes as a suspicion slowly grew in my mind. This was some sort of... _test_?

"I'm just copying. L came up with it," I replied carefully. Fine. A test and a game were the same, they could go both ways. I needed to find out who he was.

"He did, didn't he? Mmmm." Slurp. "Let us say, for argument's sake, that I'm not Coil," he proposed. "Who do you think I am?"

I thought about what to answer. I needed information from him, I needed to place him in a spot where he would be forced to reveal it, and yet I also had to be careful not to reveal more than necessary. "You're probably Haru's kidnapper." It wasn't actually that probable, but a direct accusation would be most effective in making him jump. People tended to be overly eager to prove their innocence. "You have basically asked us to spy on police reports and tell you about the progress of the investigation. This would be quite beneficial to you if you were the criminal. You have also asked us not to tell anyone that we're cooperating with you. Coil wouldn't have a problem with that fact being known, we solved the Willow Case after all. But the kidnapper could get in trouble if the police started getting curious about our cooperation." I swallowed the chocolate and started licking my fingers thoughtfully.

"When you say it like that, I do seem suspicious," he conceeded. "But I actually already have access to police reports." Guessing that I would demand proof, he recited, "Report number 097201. April 2nd. Kidnapping. At 08:21 a child was declared missing at number 78 of Fujiwari Road, a small two bedroom home..."

He already had them? Then why did he ask us to look at them? It really had all just been some sort of test? "I only said I was in London to root you out, Bishop," he continued, his voice perfectly flat. "Working with three avatars on the same case is a hassle. I'd much rather have only one. Especially in a small case such as this."

Oh. "But you didn't know which of the three was most suited for the job," I understood. He had anticipated that one of us would catch his lie and confront him, but he didn't know who. He had been testing my deductive skills. And I'd fallen for it headfirst.

It annoyed me.

He didn't reply, so I took it as confirmation. But I couldn't help feeling that there was something else he wasn't telling me. It seemed strange that he would go through all this trouble simply to determine which of us three was more intelligent. And his method of investigation was unusual, too. He was, supposedly, Coil. He surely had better means to investigate than asking a child to do it for him.

"Unfortunately, I still can't be sure that you are Coil, unless you meet me in person," I tried. I needed to meet this man, talk to him face to face, not just through a phone. Through a phone I couldn't see his facial expressions or judge his reactions. I couldn't have a mystery on both ends of a case.

"I can't do that. It is the truth that an important case here requires my constant presence."

Determined to keep his distance, wasn't he? "Alright," I sighed. "But before we start collaborating in this investigation, I hope you don't mind I test your deductive skills." He had done the same to me after all, and besides, he was still a suspect. In the worst case scenario I would know what I was up against.

The idea seemed to amuse him. There was a hint of smugness under his usually blank tone. "This line is only open for another ten minutes."

"Then you'll have to be fast. Square triangle circle square triangle."

Silence from the other end. I didn't know what kind of silence it was. Startled, thoughtful, curious? "Circle," he replied finally. A serious silence, then.

I immediately jumped to pattern Eleven and recited it from memory.

"Second left green, bottom right yellow, diagonal line across third A and only half of the middle square is colored," he answered without missing a beat. I licked my lips. It had taken me much longer to figure it out.

I recited fifteen, sixteen and seventeen, and he replied flawlessly. I couldn't understand. To a normal person, those patterns were unsolvable, and yet he found the solution in a matter of seconds. I recited eighteen and nineteen, the two patterns that had taken me entire months to solve.

"Mmm, this one's harder." Slurp. I held my breath. "Three-dimensional... Interesting." And he recited back the answer with as much confidence as he had pattern number one.

I was stunned. I hadn't expected this much, even from Coil. It was the first time that I felt stupid, so far out of my league that I didn't even compete. "Are there any more? This is quite fun." And yet he still sounded emotionless.

I thought about pattern twenty, the one I hadn't solved yet. The one rolling around in my head for so long I practically breathed it. The pattern that, no matter how many times I twisted and folded, I couldn't even catch a glimpse of. My lips dried. "No, there are no more patterns," I lied. I didn't want to be given the answer. Not yet.

Thus ended my first mental sparring with the one who called himself Coil. A total defeat, I am ashamed to say. If he really was on our side, then it was good news, because we would find Haru in no time. But if he was the kidnapper - and the possibility still existed - then Haru was in trouble, and I needed to step up my game, because I couldn't beat him as I was now. Not by a long shot.

"If you already have the reports, then what do you need me for?" I asked resignedly.

"I'd like you to search Haru's room personally. Conduct your investigation separately from Queen and Knight, and relay your own thoughts to me regularly. I might find your input useful."

Bullshit. Coil didn't need my input at all to solve the case. He only needed me as his eyes. And I couldn't shake off the feeling that he was still testing me.

He gave me a new number to call next time. When I asked why he changed the number, he said that it was for Sandra's, Olm's and my safety, bid me good bye, and hung up. I stared at the dead phone in my hand, a sinister look on my face. Eraldo Coil wasn't what I expected him to be at all.

He was much, much better. Or worse, depending on how you looked at it.

* * *

_A.N. Liked it? I'm a bit nervous about this one, what with Coil's - ahem - first appearance and all. Tell me what you thought? Any OoCness in the dialogue?_


	14. April 3rd

_A.N.: Thanks for all the amazing reviews! They do wonders for my mood :)_

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: April 3rd**

_You're excluded, you backstabbing Bishop._

* * *

The police had immediately categorized Haru's disappearance as a kidnapping and the media had immediately accused the Director of it. They assaulted him tirelessly and pitylessly. I saw him on TV that night, as he tried to enter his house, and reporters shoved their microphones under his nose and asked him questions like "Aren't you ashamed of what you've done already? Why did you have to kidnap an innocent child?" or "Where is Rook? Will you tell us?" From the background I heard shouts of "Monster!" and "Pedophile!" and he just took it, tight-jawed and hard-eyed, trying to push them aside, his bodyguards no longer strong enough to protect him.

I could understand their logic: the perpetrator of a crime was usually the one who most benefitted from it. And no one benefitted more than the Director, whose trial had been postponed until Haru was found. That could give him and his friends the time they needed to work their bribes into the justice system, in exchange for a more lenient sentence, perhaps. The other possibility, that he'd made Haru disappear for good, made me want to vomit, so I pushed it to the very back of my mind.

I don't think there was a single citizen in Tokyo who believed him when he declared, the following morning, that he had nothing to do with the kidnapping. In the eyes of the public he was already guilty.

I wasn't so sure. The Director was a smart man. He wouldn't have placed himself in a spot where he was the only suspect, especially with the whole city already against him. I believed that was exactly what the real criminal was after: to frame the Director, to make him out as more of a monster than he already was. So who would benefit from that? The first answer was simple: all the orphanages in Tokyo. The harder the Willow fell, the higher they would be able to rise. But they wouldn't dare resort to kidnapping children so soon after the scandal, when the awareness of orphanages and their dynamics was at its maximum.

Who else would want the Director's demise then? At the moment, every outraged person in Tokyo. A pretty darn high number of suspects, if you asked me.

But I had one suspect that I couldn't seem to get out of my mind. Alright, he wasn't a very likely suspect, and I was aware that pursuing him shouldn't be my foremost priority in this moment, that it would mean too many wasted hours which the real criminal could use to slip away. But Coil had intrigued me. I was certain there was more to him than he cared to reveal. Why didn't he want to show his face? What was the case that kept him so occupied (if such case existed in the first place)? Why did he believe that three children (more accurately, only Bishop) were the best agents to solve his case?

(Not that I doubted my own abilities, mind you. I already had an idea, or the prickling of an idea, of where this case with Haru was headed, and, if I was right, then we had nothing to fear. But I wondered why Coil placed such a large amount of trust in me. It felt as if seeing how I performed as a detective was more important to him than finding Haru, like his curiosity was more important than the life of my friend. I didn't like it.)

I swore to myself that, once it was over, I would answer all of those questions. If Coil was in Tokyo, then I would find him. Besides, I wanted to meet the man who would have been the best if not for L.

* * *

Since the headwork got me nowhere, the following morning I accompanied Sandra and Olm to Gwenn's house to inspect the crime scene, as Coil had requested. While they searched the room for pieces of hair or skin the kidnapper might have left behind, I sat on my bed and thought about it all again.

My gaze swept over the room. The three of us had been sleeping here, Sandra, Haru and I, him inside his fort and us in our beds. The way to his fort, the furtherest distance possible from the door, was plagued with toys, chess pieces, candy wrappers and Lego. I found it hard to believe that an adult had reached the fort, grabbed Haru, and returned to the door without tripping or making a noise to wake us. And Haru might be a coward, but if he'd been conscious, he would have at least screamed.

Then there was the window. The window was much closer to the fort, just besides it, in fact. It had been closed when we woke up that morning, but that didn't completely rule out the possibility... I walked over to it, pulled on the handle and opened it. The screeching of wood on wood was so loud and unpleasant Sandra and Olm stopped what they were doing and covered their ears. "Stop that immediately, detective," Sandra barked in my direction.

"Sorry," I apologized. There was no way we had slept through that concert. So the door it was, and by process of elimination, that left only two possibilities. Either Haru had been knocked out cold before being taken out of the room, or he went willingly, knowingly avoiding the toys so as not to wake us.

After two hours of examining every surface for fingerprints, Sandra and Olm were exhausted. "He didn't even disturb the toys," she complained, stomping her foot on the ground comically. "How are we supposed to find this guy?"

Olm grimaced. "Everyone knows the Director or his cronies did it. We should just ask Kira to kill him." Sandra shot him a glare, like every time he mentioned Kira.

I set down the Lego block I'd been examining carefully. "Kira only kills murderers." It was red, but had no smiley face. Where was the block with the smiley face?

"For all we know, Haru's dead," he shot back. "So he's a murderer." Sandra hit him hard and told him to shut up and keep working. Shortly after, there was a knock on the door, and Inspector Gwenn walked in, carrying a plate with glasses of lemonade.

"You won't find anything," she warned as she handed one to each of us. I straightened up from where I'd been searching under the bed and took a glass. "The police have already gone through it. I have already gone through it."

I gulped down the liquid, welcoming the cooling sensation in my throat, while Sandra answered something along the lines of "We might catch something you missed."

My eyes crossed with Inspector Gwenn's as I set the glass back on the tray, black against black. She held my stare for a moment, and then lowered them with the excuse of making sure that nothing on the tray spilled. "Do you have any leads?" I asked slowly. The inkling of the idea turned into a seed of suspicion, which I uncomfortably cast away.

She sighed. "No, not yet. For the moment we're just combing the neighborhood. Hopefully one of the neighbors has seen something."

Lunchtime found us in the bathroom, huddled around Sandra's phone, making our report to Coil. Sandra had assigned to me the task of remembering the number, so I was the one who dialed, and so they never found out about Coil's change. "There's nothing," she repeated into the speaker. "The toys are all where they were before we went to sleep. There isn't a single hair or a fingerprint."

"Then don't look for fingerprints," Coil's voice replied, bored. "Sometimes it's no use to look for things that shouldn't be there. Look for something that should be there, but isn't." I pursed my lips. The block with the smiley face wasn't there. And then it dawned on me, and the seed was back, blooming into a full-fledged carnivorous plant. When Sandra hung up and pocketed her phone, I asked her for it, telling her that I'd take it to the kitchen to charge since it was low on batteries.

As soon as she was gone I flipped it open and dialled. Coil picked up straight away. "Good morning, Bishop."

I went straight to the point. "Haru wasn't taken by force. He left the room willingly."

He was slurping something again, and again it reminded me of Rainbow Jam, except this time I didn't have one in my pocket, so it only made me jealous. "Really." He didn't sound very surprised. I frowned.

"You already knew?"

"Given what you told me yesterday about neither you nor Queen waking up, it was the most likely explanation," he deadpanned. "The other possibility was that he'd been drugged before being taken out of the room, but it was less likely." He paused for a moment. "So? Do you have evidence?"

I started chewing on my hair. He really was good. "His favorite Lego block is missing. If he had time to pick it up and take it with him, he must not have felt very threatened."

"What was the block like?"

"Red with a yellow smiley face."

"When did he show it to you?"

"The morning before his disappearance."

"Who are the people closest to Haru, apart from you three?"

"Jun spends a lot of time with him in his fort. Gwenn too."

After the volley of questions he remained silent for a moment.

"Coil," I tried. If I wasn't in detective mode in this moment, I wouldn't have been able to say what I was about to say. But we had to consider all the possibilities if we wanted to find him.

"Yes?"

"They're suspects." And snap! The jaws of my idea closed over the two unsuspecting flies.

I thought about their reactions when they'd learned of the disappearance. Gwenn, calm and composed. Jun, enraged. I'd known Jun all my life, and he was a very bad liar. I had trouble believing he had been faking it all. And Gwenn... I'd only known her for three months, but she was kind too. She had paid for Haru's specialist, she was concerned for him. How could either of them have kidnapped him?

And yet, the truth was they were probably the only people Haru would have trusted enough to follow out of his castle and out of the house. And he must have been following someone. I didn't think he could have been brave enough to leave his fort, his sanctuary, by himself in the middle of the night, what with his paranoid nature and all. "There's a high chance they're the kidnappers." But why? Why make Haru go missing?

"Yes," Coil replied, completely unphased. "Seventy percent."

Just so he would know I still was planning on investigating him later, I added, "You're a suspect too."

"Hm. But only two percent. Haru wouldn't have trusted a stranger enough to follow me willingly. But Inpector Gwenn has been his mother figure for the last three months, and Jun his father figure for his whole life before that. If they had told him to leave the room, he would have obeyed." A pause. A slurrrrrrrp. "You, Bishop, his best friend, are four percent."

Well, I couldn't keep accusing Coil of being a suspect if my percentage was higher than his. Instead I ignored his last comment and declared, "I'm going to interrogate them."

Looking back on it, I realize that my investigative method was quite risky. I tended to challenge potentially dangerous suspects head on. I had challenged Inspector Gwenn at the station when I thought she could be an ally of the Director and I had confronted Coil about being the kidnapper. Now I wanted to confront Gwenn and Jun again, even while knowing they had Haru in their power.

To this day, I haven't changed. I guess there is something perversely exciting about telling a person you suspect them of a crime. Not only is it useful as an intimidation tactic, but it puts them on their guard, which makes for a much more interesting game than if you caught them unaware. It's no fun to win when your opponent isn't even aware he is playing.

Regardless, at that time, I wanted to interrogate Gwenn because I wanted to find Haru. The challenge was only a secondary motivation.

Coil agreed with me. "Yes. That is the best course of action. They will most likely admit to it straightaway. When you're done, report to me again." He gave me a different number, and hung up.

I glared at the pink phone for a moment. _I'm not done with you, Coil. I'll find out what you're hiding._

Then I turned around, and froze.

Because there, leaning against the kitchen counter with her arms crossed, was Sandra, staring straight at me.

Her face was carefully expressionless, but her eyes were blazing with anger and betrayal. Just looking into them made me want to hide inside a cupboard. My blood started roaring in my ears.

I'd never found a utility for swearing, save to insult Olm and annoy the adults. But right then only a last-second reflex prevented a very, very bad word from escaping my lips. Instead I managed to keep my face blank. Sandra's mouth thinned, and then she stalked over and tore the phone from my hands without a word, twisting my fingers in the process.

I moistened my lips. "Hey, uh, Coil called again, and I just picked up."

She whirled around, and immediately I realized I shouldn't have said anything. The expression on her face was terrifying. "I might not be as smart as you, but I'm not stupid, Jaylin," she said darkly. "I followed you when you left the bathroom. I've heard everything, from the beginning."

My tongue was heavy. "Why?"

She scowled, her gentle face twisting into an angry mask. This wasn't supposed to have happened. The likelihood of Sandra or Olm suspecting of my cooperation with Coil was practically nonexistent. "Why? Because I wanted to make sure you knew how to charge it, that's why. But look what I overhear instead! If you had discovered a hint to find Haru, why didn't you tell us about it?"

"I just thought Coil should know first-"

"Shut up!" she ordered, and I did. "We were supposed to be a team, to work together! We were supposed to investigate together!" Each of her words was like a sharp needle into my stomach. "You weren't supposed to hog all the glory for yourself!"

I panicked. My hand dove into my pocket and I started stretching the elastic so much it broke and singed my fingers. "I didn't want to hog the glory, I just had to tell him..." I tried, speaking so fast the words blurred.

Her scowl deepened. "Whatever." She turned around and walked out of the room, but paused just before reaching the door. "I'm gonna be the one interrogating Gwenn and Jun. You're excluded, you backstabbing Bishop."

My shoulders sank as I watched her go. _It's just a children's quarrel_, the more rational part of my mind whispered. _She won't stay angry for long_. But the look in her eyes when I'd first seen her was burned in my brain with a searing hot knife. There were few things that made Sandra really, truly angry, but being lied to was undoubtedly at the top of the list, and I had lied to her, in more ways than one. My insides churned painfully. This wasn't supposed to have happened! How could I have been so careless? I should have gone outside to talk to Coil, or...

I ran after her_. You don't need Sandra for everything_, Bonman's voice kept repeating. But I did. Sandra was the one who taught me which corridors to take to avoid Bulldog Bertha. She was the one who tied up my laces when my fingers were still too slow and clumsy to do it properly myself. She was the one who drilled into me that stealing was wrong, no matter how little food the orphanage put in our plates. I _needed_ her. "Wait, wait!"

She looked back, her eyes cold.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, gasping for air.

"Hmph," she shrugged, and kept walking as if I hadn't said anything.


	15. April 3rd, afternoon

_A.N: TANP! (Thanks Anonymous Nice People!)_

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: April 3rd, afternoon**

_Bishop, considering your age, your observation and deduction skills are extraordinary. Would you be prepared to help me in another case?_

* * *

Being excluded felt terrible.

I sat by myself in the living-room of Bonman's mansion, looking at the portrait of Henry VIII in front of me. He was the one with the many wives and lovers. After staring blankly for a while I started enumerating them, the date he married them and the date they died, simply for something to do. The History tutor Bonman had assigned me was an expert in the Tudor era, and, occasionally, his ramblings were entertaining enough to make me pay attention. Henry's wives had practically exhausted all possibilities of death: illness, murder, execution, childbirth complications. They could have made for an interesting forensic study.

Sandra had ordered Hans to take me back to the mansion while she stayed in the other side of town interrogating Gwenn. I thought it was unfair, especially since I'd been the one to deduce she could be a culprit. I thought it was dangerous, because we weren't yet sure of her motivation and therefore of her reaction to Sandra's accusations. Coil had said she would admit to it straightaway, so he must have had an idea, but he could be wrong. And finally, I thought it was stupid, because Sandra would need me anyway if she was planning on contacting Coil again. I was the only one who knew the (new) number he kept changing.

Nevertheless, she had succeeded in making me feel guilty and annoyed. And bored, too. Bored to the point of considering how long Henry would take to burn in the flames of the chimney.

Thankfully, Bonman entered the room then, interrupting the dark turn my thoughts had taken. Henry was spared the flames. For the moment. "Jaylin?" he called, surprised. "What are you doing here? I thought you were..."

"Coil told me to work separately from Olm and Sandra. Sandra found out. She got angry and excluded me from the investigation. Tell me about the Detective War." I replied all in the same monotone without taking my eyes off Henry. "I'm going to find him."

"Find Coil?" Bonman repeated, not sure he had heard me correctly.

"Yes," I replied dryly. "He's in Tokyo, yet refuses to meet me. I'm going to find him."

He slowly sat down on the rocking chair besides me, making it creak under his weight. "What about Haru?"

"Most likely he never left Gwenn's house," I guessed, "or perhaps he's hidden in Jun's basement. Coil says there's a seventy percent chance." I let my eyes trail down to the floor, wondering who was the remaining thirty percent. Coil himself and I already accounted for six. No doubt the Director, despite the illogicality of such a move, was somewhere close to the dozen. What about the rest? Was Bonman a suspect too? I stole a quick glance at him, catching him in the middle of tapping his nose.

"You want to find Coil," he repeated thoughtfully. "Are you sure Haru's safe?"

No, I wasn't. There was a high chance of Gwenn and Jun being the kidnappers, not of Haru being safe. But the image of either of them hurting him was illogical and absurd. They would never hurt Haru. If they had kidnapped him, it was for another reason altogether. "Yes, fairly sure."

He made a noise of assent, still thinking. "Are you still planning to ask Coil to investigate L? That idea of yours that only the second best can beat the best?"

"Technically, anyone can beat the best," I corrected. So many questions were starting to annoy me. Now I could understand how people felt when I questioned them. "The second best simply has higher chances. Will you tell me about the War or not?"

He cleared his throat, and started getting up from the chair. "Yes, one moment. We printed those papers last month..." he mumbled to himself as he left the room. "Should still be in the study..."

I waited patiently for him to return. Would I ask Coil to investigate L, once all this was over? First I needed to be sure of Coil himself. I smiled, remembering how barely two days ago I was wishing for something interesting to happen, and now I had so many mysteries on my plate that I could pick and choose which one I liked best.

Over the last few weeks Kira's killings had continued as always. There had only been very, very slight irregularities - two hours passing without a criminal dying, and then two dying at the same time on the following hour, or a criminal jumping off a roof _before_ the heart attack caught up to him, or a criminal dying exactly on time, curiously not of a heart attack, but a suicide (theatrical coincidence?). I thought they were small victories that proved that L was on the right track. Kira would see no need to change his pattern if he didn't feel threatened in some way.

L. A letter. The sheer number of cases he had solved had made me consider the possibility of L being a detective organisation rather than a single person, the same way Kira could be an organisation, but for some reason the idea didn't sit well with me. Eraldo Coil was a single person, and Deneuve was a single person, and so for L to be proclaimed the best he must have been a single person too. The Detective War was between individuals, not detective organizations.

Bonman came back and sat down on the rocking chair again, a pile of papers on his lap. "Let's see... It was eight years and three months ago, in January."

I leaned forwards on my chair with interest. I hadn't bothered to read through the details of the Detective War before (reading was boring) but perhaps it would give me some insight on Coil.

Bonman glanced up at me. "Do you want the reports or the newspaper articles or..."

I waved a hand in the air. "Everything."

* * *

An hour later we were combing and upturning every statement and action taken by each of the three detectives, or rather by two of them, since L's had either been erased from the records or never been in the records at all. Coil had come surprisingly close to solving the case before L, by what Bonman called 'good luck' but was to me a magistral stroke, turned the tables on him as he revealed that Coil had actually withdrawn crucial evidence from the crime scene, the cheating bastard. It resulted in Coil forfeiting the case. As for Deneuve, he was so far behind that he never really competed.

From that moment on, L was called the best not only for solving the hardest case of the century but for doing so without the crucial evidence held back by Coil. After the Detective War the three had never crossed paths again, their cases never overlapping each other. Not a single conflict in eight years... On the contrary, there were instances when they seemed to cooperate even, to work towards the same goal. It struck me as strange. I'd thought Coil would want some sort of revenge against L after being so thoroughly humiliated.

I chewed on my hair thoughtfully. "Did Coil's pattern change after that?"

"No," Bonman replied, understanding what I meant. "He kept taking the same kinds of cases, though less frequently." He shifted through the papers and nodded to himself. "The Florian Children has been his latest great feat."

I narrowed my eyes. That was more than half a year ago. "Any hints on what he's doing now, in Tokyo?"

Bonman looked up at me curiously. "He's in Tokyo?"

I sighed. I hated repeating myself. Sometimes I had the distinct feeling Bonman did it just to annoy me. "Yes. He says he can't meet me because of a big case. Any hints?"

He started searching through the records, frowning. When it became clear after a dozen minutes that nothing would come up, a sudden thought occured to me, and I started calculating back the years. Olm had said his parents had hired Coil twelve years ago... The Detective War eight years ago... I snapped up in my chair, eyes wide. "How old is he? When was his first case?"

"Well let's see... His date of birth is confidential too... Mmmm... But the first case registered as Eraldo Coil's was forty-five years ago."

I lapsed into silence. At the very least, Coil was what, sixty? Seventy? Impossible. He sounded much younger over the phone. Of course, the timber of a voice wasn't a reliable indicator of age, and he did use slightly archaic vocabulary...

No, I decided. My instincts were right. There was something fishy with Coil, and until I found the truth about him, I wouldn't be satisfied.

* * *

The TV showed images of Jun being arrested in front of his house by Gwenn. He seemed sorry, staring at the ground and remaining silent when the reporters asked him what he'd been hoping to achieve. Shortly after, Haru emerged from the house all wrapped up in a blanket, as if that would somehow protect him from the glare of the cameras. He didn't seem hurt or scared of Jun in any way, but he flinched when the reporters turned to him with their questions.

Sandra also appeared on camera, smiling brightly. "How did you know where Rook was?" they asked her, and she puffed out her chest and replied, "We're detectives. We worked it out, of course." Then her expression turned sombre. "You guys have better leave Haru alone. He's gone through a lot already. If you ask him one more question, I'm going to get angry." They seemed to take her threat to heart, because they didn't hinder him as he made his way to Gwenn's car, shaking under his blanket.

I stared blankly at the TV from my perch on the sofa. I needed to interrogate Jun, to understand why he had kidnapped Haru. My intuition told me he'd taken Haru to his house to protect him and keep him safe until the Willow hype died down, and then it had all gotten out of hand. But his immediate accusation of the Director the morning after the disappearance gave me the feeling that Jun knew exactly what he was doing. Perhaps, if Coil and I hadn't gotten involved in the case, the Director would have been accused of the kidnapping, which would have added a few more years to his sentence. Was that what Jun had been after? He certainly seemed to hate the man enough for it.

My thoughts were interrupted when Hans walked into the living-room, holding a phone. His expression was of absolute puzzlement. "A person has called my mobile," he informed me. I glanced up questioningly. "He says he wants to speak to Bishop. His name is Ideal Color."

Ideal Color. I'd learned enough of the English language to recognize it as an anagram for Eraldo Coil. "Thank you, Hans," I replied, taking the phone. "I'll give it back when I'm done."

"Answer with yes or no," Coil's voice instructed as soon as I put the phone to my ear. "Have you seen the news?"

"Yes."

"You haven't managed to question Jun, have you?"

"No."

"Because Queen found out you were investigating behind her back?"

I pursed my lips. How had he deduced that much? "Yes."

"Would you agree that Jun's primary motivation was to frame the Director?" Upon my thoughtful silence, he sighed with exasperation and added, "Or protect the child?"

"Yes," I conceded.

"Would you say the case is solved then?"

"Yes." Except for one little thing: Coil himself. But I waited, wanting to hear what he would do next.

"Mmmm." He paused. Perhaps he intended to demand payment? "Bishop, considering your age, your observation and deduction skills are extraordinary," he started, "much more so than many of the people I'm working with at the moment." I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. Praise was never given out freely, and especially not from Coil; he wanted something from me, for sure. "And as a child, you are much less likely to raise suspicions..." He seemed to be talking to himself now. "You have no obligations... Your financial situation is optimal... And I still can't move... Would you be prepared to help me in another case?" he asked abruptly. "If you do, I won't demand any payment."

My heart leaped in my chest. He wanted my help! Coil wanted to cooperate with me again! "Yes," I replied breathlessly, barely stopping myself from jumping up and doing a happy dance. A new mystery for me! And, I realized, it would give me another opportunity to get closer to the truth about him.

"Thank you." He didn't sound all that thankful, as if it was already a given that I would agree. I didn't really mind, I was getting a case! "I will contact you again soon." And he hung up.

I stared at the phone for a moment, grinning like an idiot, until Hans coughed. "Oh, sorry," I apologized, handing it back to him.

He took it carefully. I expected him to ask who I'd been talking to or whether he should expect a call from this Ideal Color again, but he didn't, merely looked at me for a moment and left. It was one thing I liked about Hans. He never asked questions.

* * *

_A.N: I almost forgot. I appreciate negative reviews as much if not more than positive ones. If in your review for this chapter you wrote something you didn't like (characters, plot is too slow, not enough description, etc.) then I would be very grateful :) That way, I can improve. If you can't think of anything, then answer: who is your least favorite character and why?_

_Thank you everyone._


	16. April 10th

_A.N: Thank you everyone for your thoughtful reviews. Penguin, I don't know who you are but I'm really happy you see the characters with as much depth as I do. You have nailed that portrait of Sandra dead on (I would perhaps add a hint of jealousy somewhere in there, but nevertheless it was some incredible insight.) Thanks again!_

_Hum. This chapter was hard. I'm having trouble getting started on the interesting stuff._

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: April 10th**

_How long have you known Eraldo Coil?_

* * *

The next few days could be summarized with two words: utter boredom. I didn't hear from Coil for the rest of the week, and my excitement about the new case died down. No calls. No e-mails. Nothing. What was I supposed to investigate?

The trials finally started, and they did nothing but add to the tedium. By the second hour I was done observing and evaluating every person in the courtroom and the novelty of it had worn off. It was so irritating, sitting through infinite speeches from the lawyers (_attorneys_, Bonman corrected under his breath), then answering question after question after question, your excellency this, your excellency that. At one point they accused me of being uncooperative, though after it was pointed out that I was seven (nearly eight) years old my attitude was excused.

Haru had less trouble than I thought he would. The courtroom was quiet after all, and nobody moved from their seats, so he was reasonably more calm than on the plateau. The real problem were the entrances and exits, but the media caught on fairly quickly that if they leaned in too close he would bolt, and so waited respectfully for him to pass before hurling themselves at Sandra.

I expect the blanket helped. He now carried it with him everywhere he went, covering his whole body except for a fraction of his face, which made him look like a turtle or a slug. But when he wore it he could interact with the outside world almost like a normal person, as if it were some sort of shield, protecting him from the stares of the crowd. Even on hot days he never left Gwenn's house without it. The judge stared at him strangely when he walked up to the witness stand all wrapped up, but didn't comment.

I had been spending a lot of time with Haru lately. He came almost every day to Bonman's mansion for lunch and then spent the afternoon with me, while Sandra and Olm went to play outside. In those lazy moments I taught him chess. He learned surprisingly fast, and became quite good at it, before he claimed it was boring because it made him think too much. I would be lying if I said I wasn't offended.

Instead, we played games on the computer. He liked spaceship games and and war games and even chatted with other players. Every day he spent more time huddled on the computer chair with his blanket pulled over his head, clicking and typing and making sounds of explosions.

But there was only so much distraction games and chess could provide. Coil still hadn't called me, and I was beginning to doubt he ever would. Sandra ignored us royally as she spent most of her time with Olm. There were no thrills, no puzzles, and we were starting to grow tremendously bored.

It was only logical we started creating our own thrills.

One day Haru was sitting on his chair, staring at the screen, when he motionned for me to come closer urgently. "L-Look what I did," he announced proudly in a whisper. Curious, I leaned over him, to see Bonman's face staring back at us, his eyes darting around, confused. "I c-connected the computer he was using with this computer," he explained, still whispering, "and I can control what it does from here."

It sounded strange to me. I'd never understood what the deal was with electronics. "Why's his face there?"

"That's the c-camera on his computer." He laughed silently. "He's probably wondering what's going on." He clicked a random folder and opened a picture of a pretty Japanese lady smiling, and Bonman's frown deepened. Was that his girlfriend? He'd never been married, as far as I knew.

"How did you do that?"

"It's actually really easy, because they're already connected s-since they're in the same net. All you have to do is switch the screens around." I looked away from the computer to stare at Haru's pale face. The reflection of the screen in his black eyes and his look of absolute concentration made me see him under a new light. Even with a scarce knowledge of electronics, I knew normal people didn't know how to sneak into other's computers. Had he learnt just after a few days of playing games? "It would be very hard for anyone from the outside to get in," he continued, almost talking to himself, "but since we're already in it's easy."

"Why did you fail?" I asked abruptly.

He turned towards me, disconcerted. "F-fail what?"

"The pattern test from the man called Roger. He said you'd taken it. Why did you fail? You did manage to work out Eleven, didn't you?" I'd always thought there was something about Haru. Watching his huge, dark eyes moving constantly, going inside his fort and discovering the complex improvements he added each time, measuring the perfect symmetry of the structures he built with Lego, I'd known there was something more to him. The closer I got to him the more I noticed how he was always on guard, always observing, and while I had dismissed it as paranoia at first I was starting to realize that perhaps it was for another reason altogether.

Perhaps it was for the same reason as me.

Haru's eyes quickly went back to the screen, suddenly finding it fascinating. "Y-you met Roger?" he asked, no doubt in an attempt to divert the attention away from himself.

I smiled, deciding for a less agressive approach. One question at a time. "Yes, I did. You did too, didn't you?"

After a reluctant silence he nodded. "He came once."

I swallowed, trying to stop myself from shooting him the thousands of questions on my tongue. One at a time. "Before or after the Director...?"

Only a slight tremor shook his back. The blanket definitely helped. "After."

How had it happened? What had he done that caught Roger's attention? We stared at the screen silently for a while, Haru opening random folders, laughing as Bonman got up from his chair and reached for his cell phone with an alarmed expression. "So why did you fail?" I asked again.

"I don't know," he whispered. "It was too much thinking, and I was scared."

For the first time, I finally felt like I had real insight on Haru. He was smart, smarter than Sandra or Olm, but too scared and lazy to prove it. He only ever used his mind for the things that he found fun - castles and computers - and the rest was to him a waste of time. Unlike me, he had no hunger for learning, no hunger for competition, no hunger for mysteries. All he wanted was to be left alone.

Perhaps, if the Director hadn't called him up to his office, things would have been different. Perhaps he could have become my greatest rival in chess. Perhaps Coil would have asked to work with him too.

I reached forward and clicked on a New Document, and typed in bold letters,_ L learned Psychology and Criminology at school for sure_. Haru took in a sharp breath as Bonman stopped mid-sentence and lowered the phone.

"Jaylin? Is that you?" he asked, leaning close to the camera.

_Yes_, I typed. Grinning, Haru took over and wrote, _Mr Bonman should update his computer's security._

Needless to say, we were badly scolded for that one. But Bonman didn't seem to get the message until a week later, when we designed a system of pulleys to drop a kilogram of potassium metal into the swimming pool. Only then he realized the dangers of having two extremely bored creative children in his house. That night he announced at dinner he was increasing my class schedule with high-school subjects. I sighed and started talking about how great it would be if those subjects included psychology and criminology, how I was sure to never get bored with those. Bonman gave me a disapproving frown. "We already talked about this. You should have a wider base of knowledge first. Your History tutor has informed me you hardly pay attention in class." And he added an extra hour of History to my schedule.

I looked at my hands defeatedly. Mission failed. More drastic measures needed to be taken. Then again, I couldn't think of anything more drastic than blowing up the swimming-pool, short of blasting the whole mansion into the air.

* * *

It was raining heavily outside, but Sandra still left the house to go play in the garden. I watched as Olm raced to meet her, beaming, but slipped and fell face-first on the mud. Heh heh. Stupid.

Hans knocked softly against the door, distracting me. "Some mail has arrived for you, Miss Jaylin." I looked up. Mail? For me? He was holding a box, which he offered to me carefully, as if it were an extremely fragile item.

The box was a perfect white cube. There was nothing written on it, only a tag with the word 'Bishop' in neutral black letters attached to a corner. A momentary fit of paranoia overtook me - not so long ago, L had solved a case of a phantom murderer who sent bombs to his target's house disguised as anonymous mail - but I forced it off, deciding the packet was most probably from Coil. And since he'd repeatedly manifested his desire to keep our cooperation secret, I took it up to my room before opening it. Bonman watched me climb the stairs with a quizzical look, but didn't ask. He probably had an accurate idea of what was happening, anyway. He knew Coil and I had talked before.

Inside the box was a phone.

It wasn't pink and flowery, like Sandra's, but a sleek, modern black. Was this what Coil had in mind to 'contact' me? I turned it over in my hands, curious, and blinked at the design on the back.

A checkered pattern, like a chessboard, but that wasn't what surprised me. In the middle of the chessboard was the picture of a Rainbow Jam. My thoughts immediately started to race. How did Coil know about my favorite chocolate? I could count on the fingers of one hand the people who knew that, and they were all in my inner circle. Bonman, probably Hans, and maybe Sandra, Olm and Haru, though I doubted they paid enough attention to notice such things. That was it.

How Coil had managed to get hold of such information was beyond me, unless one of them had told him. Why had he done it? Was this a subtle form of telling me he knew everything about me? _Intimidation tactic_, my brain breathed, and I frowned. Perhaps I was reading too much into it; perhaps he simply thought I would like it. But I couldn't shake off the feeling that he was playing mind games with me.

Regardless, staring at the Rainbow Jam for too long made me start drooling, so I turned the phone over and pressed the on button. The screen lit up and after a couple of seconds the home menu popped up. I looked over the icons, intrigued. The sudden realization that this phone was mine, that Coil had given it to me and I was now holding my very own phone in my hands, sent a trickling of excitement down my spine. My possessions at the orphanage were limited to two shirts, pants, shoes, and my elastic. Though I had held expensive things since being adopted by Bonman, it was the first time something like this was actually, wholly mine.

I experimented with the buttons, scrolling through the menus, wondering where the games were. Sandra's phone had games. It had Chess in it. I grinned, realizing that now that I had a phone, I could play chess anywhere, whenever I wanted to.

Then I found the contacts list. There was only one name. _E. coli__._ Shouldn't it be E. Coil? Why the anagram? After staring seriously at it for a while, I pocketed the phone and went back to the living room.

_E. coli._ Did he get a kick out of giving me puzzles or something? I could imagine him, lounging back on a couch, smugly slurping his strawberry smoothie or whatever it was, thinking up little mysteries for me. It seemed like he was actively challenging me. Like he knew I was trying to find him, and it was his way of saying prove it to me.

(Or, given his tremendous abilities and apparent apathy, he more likely came up with it without even trying and put it there on a whim. It couldn't stop me from grinning. Any puzzle was welcome.)

Bonman was seated in front of our chessboard, staring vacantly into space. I sat opposite him without a word and advanced the King's pawn. He looked down, surprised, and after a second growled under his breath and countered with the Sicilian defense.

We played silently for a while. The endgame was extremely tough, both our sides with one rook and one pawn. But of course, the peculiarity of Chess was that the weakest piece, after fighting its way across the whole board, could become the most powerful, and, at this point, the game was simple mathematics. I calculated all the possible moves from our current position, chose the optimal route, queened before him, and won. He leaned back on his chair, sighing.

"Say, Bonman," I commented, watching as he distractedly crossed and uncrossed his ankles.

"What is it, Jaylin?"

"How long have you known Eraldo Coil?"

For one instant, everything stopped. The whispering of the wind through the trees outside stopped. The creaking of the wooden planks beneath our feet stopped. The deaf noise of the rain falling stopped. The whole world held its breath as Bonman glanced up at me, surprised.

But then he chuckled, his belly shaking, and the tension dissipated in a great whoosh, as if the second of hesitation had never been there. "The only time I've talked to Eraldo Coil was when he called Sandra's phone... And it was only two words. How could you think that I know him from before? If I had, I would have told you."

I looked down at the bulge of my phone in my pocket. "I figured you'd say something like that," I mumbled to myself, disappointed.

His amused expression changed to one of concern. "Jaylin... Is there something troubling you?"

I suppose my attitude could be qualified as unusual. It wasn't every day I accused Bonman of lying to me or hiding things from me. Perhaps I was truly developing a case of paranoia. Instead of answering his question, I pursed my lips and asked a different one. "What's an _E. coli_?"

He snuggled in his chair. He was already used to my abrupt changes of subject and no longer questioned them. "You mean the bacteria," he said finally, "_Escherichia coli_?" I waited for him to elaborate. He tapped his nose, remembering the facts. "It's a common species. It's in the intestines of many animals. Humans too."

Intestines? No, whatever Coil had meant had nothing to do with intestines.

"Escherichia coli..." He repeated. "It's also the species of bacteria most used in genetic and molecular biology experiments."

Ah. Experiments. Was that Coil's way of saying that I was an experiment? Because it was the first time he used an agent, or the first time he used a child as his agent? Or perhaps he meant a different thing altogether? Too many questions. I was starting to suspect that he found a particular amusement in testing me, confusing me.

I was done waiting for his tests like a good girl.

It was my move now.


	17. April 12th

**Chapter Seventeen: April 12th**

_What if the Coil we know isn't the Coil from ten years ago?_

* * *

I stared coldly at the man seated on the sleek white couch in front of me. He wasn't young, but he wasn't old either, only a hint of grey hairs showing near his ears. His eyes were small and calculating, his mouth thin and unpleasant. He was dressed smartly, his black suit perfectly ironed, his shoes so polished they shone like mirrors. The sharp angles of his body and the stark clean appearance of his clothes made him fit just like another piece of furniture in the living-room. If it wasn't for the light of cruelty in his eyes, I would have mistaken him for a statue.

It felt strange, confronting him in person, an enemy I had already fought and _crushed_.

"You are in a state of checkmate," I informed emotionlessly.

The Director didn't even move. How I had managed to get an interview with him could be traced back to yesterday, as I sat with Haru in my room. Leverage. It was all a matter of leverage.

* * *

"Ziuummmm! Boom! Crash! Hah, take that!" Haru was playing his computer game, his blanket around his shoulders, when I decided that the benefits of showing him my phone outweighed the drawbacks. So I walked up to him and dropped it in his lap. "Whiizzzzz... AAAAH!" he cried, falling backwards.

The surprise nearly made him topple the chair, but he caught himself in time and I managed to grab the mouse before it fell too. "D-don't do that," he stammered, struggling to regain his breath.

"Sorry," I apologized, then nodded towards my phone. "Can you take a look at that?"

His eyes zoomed in on the phone like homing missiles. He picked it up immediately and started fumbling with the buttons, his game completely forgotten. "A phone," he looked up at me, confused, and then back down. There was a beat of silence. "A satellite phone?" he whispered, astonished. "Wow... A satphone?" He breathed it like the name of a God, curling over himself so he could stare at it better. He did tend to be slightly overexcited just after playing his computer game.

I did the obvious. Ask. "What's a satphone?"

"It's like, a phone that works anywhere in the world, because it uses satellites instead of land-based cells. It has connection to the Internet from anywhere and always has a signal. Only v-very few people use it. The Army uses it. Terrorist groups use it too." He gazed at it, amazed. I didn't even ask how he had gotten that information. "They encrypt voices and messages so they can't be intercepted..." he trailed off, and carefully, as if it were some sort of jewel, picked it up again. I remained silent while he explored the menus, the awe in his eyes becoming more obvious as his stammering increased. "W-Wow. This is p-practically a c-computer. Y-You have a recording f-function, a voice recognition function, a-and the processing c-capacity of..." I tuned out his ramblings, classifying them as irrelevant information.

Why had Coil given me such a toy? Did he expect me to have need of it someday?

I shook my head. The only thing this revealed about him was that he had lots of money, which wasn't that helpful. "Can you tell me where that number is from?" I asked, showing him the contacts list.

He looked at it for a moment. "No. I've never held a satphone before. I don't know how they work exactly. Plus, I haven't tried tracing phone numbers yet." The way he said it made me think that it was already on his agenda, but not due till next Monday, or something like that. He returned the phone to me. "How did you get it?" His pupils were wide, tremendously curious.

I smiled. "It was a present from one of the policemen. They were grateful I'd helped so much." I doubted he would believe me, but frankly, his opinion didn't matter. Even if he figured out the truth he would hardly go out of his way to divulge it.

He looked at me for a moment, then returned to his screen, clicking away. "I found something about the Director yesterday," he said, changing the subject, "while I waited for the next wave of creepers. Eraldo Coil investigated him ten years ago. About a kidnapping." Coil had investigated the Director before? I leaned forwards intently. "But he dropped the investigation."

What? Why? My nose was almost touching the screen. "Who was kidnapped?"

"Two thirteen-year-old twins. Maria and Adela Gomez. The Director showed Coil definite proof that he wasn't involved, so Coil dropped it," Haru continued to himself. "But it doesn't say what proof." We read the report in silence for a while. A theory started forming in my mind, and with every line it became more likely, until I was absolutely certain of it.

The Director wasn't merely a corrupt, child-abusing millionaire.

He was a murderer.

I started thinking how I could use it to my advantage, and a plan practically drew itself in my mind without any input from me. Leverage. It was so simple.

* * *

He was still staying silent. He had ordered his bodyguards away and we were alone in his living-room. Under different circumstances I would have feared for my safety, but not when there were half a dozen reporters just outside his door who had seen me walk in. The Director might be capable of the most monstruous, inhumane things, but he wasn't stupid. With so many witnesses, I was reasonably safe.

I had considered asking Sandra to come with me. She was better at dealing with adults after all, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't intimidated by his eyes, so flat and sharp at the same time. Before the Willow Case I might not have had the confidence to do this myself. But Sandra would never approve of my methods. Besides, she was still angry. A pang of guilt stabbed my side and I pushed it away like an annoying fly.

He still stared at me. I looked down and got out my elastic, knowing that particular gesture tended to unnerve people.

"Your present charges are sufficient to grant you about ten years," I continued. Cross. Double cross. Cross. Double cross. "But there is the possibility you could bribe your way out of it. Your conversations with Justice Noriko are certainly suspicious." There was only the slightest tightening of his jaw. "Murder, on the other hand, you could never get away with."

His expression didn't change, his features still perfectly calm, but looking into his eyes made me feel like I stared at a cadaver's rictus. I suppressed a shiver; the key was to stay calm. That was what Bonman always said. Cross. Double-cross. "There is no proof I murdered Maria and Adela," he observed.

"But the fact that you agreed to meet me betrays you did," I replied morosely. Pointless conversation. He was aware I knew the truth, so why didn't we get straight to what mattered? "If you were innocent, you wouldn't have felt threatened by my message. You bribed Coil so he would stop sticking his nose into their kidnapping. And since it's been ten years and they still haven't been found," I continued in the same monotone, "the most likely outcome is that they're dead."

He leaned back on his couch. "There is no proof," he repeated, looking at me in a superior manner. His words were carefully chosen, neither admitting nor denying, and I realized he was being cautious, in case I happened to be secretly recording the conversation. Which I was. Why did I have a mega-satphone if not to use it?

I was truly conversing with a murderer, I realized. I was sitting across from one, alone in his living-room. The fear slowly started turning to a morbid thrill of excitement. This man in front of me had really killed two people. "And I'm sure you didn't commit the act yourself. Probably hired a couple of thugs to do it for you." He didn't falter, his lips stretching into the grimmest of smiles. I fought back another shiver. "Why did you do it?" I asked. The idea of a human killing another human was so foreign I couldn't help being curious.

He didn't reply, his smile spreading even wider until it looked like a line drawn on his face by a knife. Cross. Double-cross. "Regardless," I continued, "I do have proof."

He turned deathly serious in less than a heartbeat. The change was almost more frightening than the expression itself. "No, you don't."

"Will you take that chance?" It wasn't too hard to fake confidence. I had already beaten him once, after all; if the need called for it, I knew I could beat him again. But I wasn't interested in Maria and Adela's deaths. If he truly had kidnapped and killed them, it had happened before I was even born. It had nothing to do with me. "I only want some information," I explained. "And, in exchange, I won't mention Maria and Adela to the media."

I suppose that to an outsider the scene would have seemed strange. A seven (nearly eight) year-old blackmailing a millionaire was no ordinary event, after all. But to me it made perfect sense, and to the Director too. He didn't look at me like I was a child, he looked at me like I was a very real threat. He also seemed to want to strangle me. I had ruined his life, after all.

It was refreshing in a strange, thrilling way, to be finally taken seriously.

He narrowed his eyes. "What kind of information?"

"Nothing that will compromise you. Did you meet Coil during the investigation he conducted on you?"

He thought about it for a minute, trying to find any traps in the question. "Yes," he replied finally.

"How old was he?"

"Mmm... Early fifties, I'd say."

"What did he look like?"

If he was surprised by my questions he didn't show it. "Very English. Blonde, with a mustache, and clear eyes."

"Could he speak Japanese?"

"No. He could barely say a greeting."

Cross. Double-cross. Faster and faster. The Coil I'd spoken to didn't even have an accent. I supposed he could have learnt Japanese in ten years, but...

"Do you recall him particularly reluctant to meet you in person?"

He frowned. "No. He was the one who proposed it."

I questioned him for a whole hour after that, trying to get any scrap of information that would confirm my suspicions. What was his voice like? Quite low. Did he slurp or eat anything while you talked? No, of course not, only you bad-mannered brats do that.

But it wasn't enough. It wasn't conclusive. I needed something concrete.

* * *

That afternoon, back at home, I spoke to Sandra for the first time in days. She didn't want to see me at first, but as soon as I got a couple of words out she ushered me into her room, phoned Olm and Inspector Gwenn so she could bring Haru over, and proclaimed a secret meeting of the Chess Detectives.

Haru already had an idea of what I was going to say, so he didn't fall off his chair with surprise. Sandra and Olm did. "What?" she exclaimed, incredulous.

I grinned.

She regained her balance and sat cross-legged, thinking hard. "So the Director kidnapped two girls, and killed them. And when Coil started investigating, he bribed him so he would stop?"

Haru and I nodded. "In all likelihood."

She looked up to the ceiling. "And you blackmailed the Director to get information on Coil. But you promised we wouldn't talk about Maria and Adela." Her face scrunched up, and she glared at me. "The Director killing two people is more important than Coil! How could you have promised that?"

I sighed. This was why I said Sandra wouldn't approve of my methods. To me, Maria and Adela didn't matter. They were already dead. Whether the Director was punished for it or not wasn't my business. But Sandra had an iron-hard concept of justice, and she couldn't stand the idea of a criminal getting away. Her reaction had been easy to predict. "I only promised _I_ wouldn't say anything," I breathed with a little smile. "I never mentioned you guys."

It took her a moment to absorb what I was implying. Then her face lit up, and she petted my hair. "Clever, clever Bishop," she complimented proudly. I beamed.

She truly had forgiven me. The guilt weighting down on my chest for the past week finally lifted, leaving me light-hearted and smiling. I was her Bishop again. Then I felt the bulge of the phone in my pocket, which evidently I hadn't mentioned, and a fraction of the weight came back.

Olm frowned. "Are we going to investigate that kidnapping now?"

Sandra thought about it for a moment before shaking her head. "No. It happened ten years ago. It would be too hard for us to gather evidence. The best we can do is bring attention to it and hope the police pick up the case again. Maybe we can ask Inspector Gwenn to investigate it." She pursed her lips. "Plus, we have our hands full with Coil. I didn't think he was the kind of person to take bribes," she added in a slightly disgusted tone.

"He might not be," I replied distractedly. They just stared at me blankly.

"You're not making sense, freak," Olm spat. "Did or did he not get bribed?"

"Oh, he did," I assured. "But what if the Coil we know isn't the Coil from ten years ago?" A little shiver ran up my spine. This was the first time I voiced my theory out loud. And if I was right, we had been collaborating with an impostor, a fake... No, that wasn't exactly correct. Our Coil had the same abilities and investigative means as his predecessor, if not better. It would be more accurate to call him a second Coil.

Their stares were incredulous. Haru was the first to shrug and look away, concentrating back on his Lego blocks. Olm simply glared at me, annoyed. But Sandra's initial disbelief changed to doubt, and then to interest. "What do you mean?"

"I think the Coil that helped us find Haru isn't the same person the Director bribed," I repeated, "or the person Olm's parents hired to find his sister. I think something happened between ten years ago and today that caused the person acting as Coil to change."_ I assure you, I am the detective known as Eraldo Coil_.

Her eyes mirrored my excitement as she grabbed my hand. "Are you sure?"

"No," I admitted. "I haven't found any conclusive evidence. But it is a possibility."

Her head whipped around. "Knight, you must speak to your parents. Ask them what the Coil they hired was like. We must confirm this." Olm started to protest, but she scooted over to him and looked up at him through her lashes. "Please?"

I had watched this scene so many times it wasn't even funny anymore. Could Olm really be that dumb? I looked at Haru, who rolled his eyes as he played with his Lego.

"Alright," Sandra declared once Olm had nodded grudgingly, "the secret meeting is over. Knight, you will talk to your parents. Rook, you will search on the computer for anything about the first Coil. We need to find out what happened to him and who this impostor is. Bishop, you will help him. I will speak to the reporters outside about Adela and Maria." And she stalked confidently out of the room, heading straight for the door to the street.

* * *

That night I lay in my huge bed staring blankly at the ceiling, folding and unfolding Pattern Twenty in my mind, when I abruptly sat up, my breath short.

Something between ten years ago and today that caused the person acting as Coil to change.

Between ten years ago and today. It was a wide range. Many things could have happened in such a long time. It was a longer time than I'd even been alive.

But still. The Detective War. It was included in that range.

* * *

_A.N: Phew! This one practically wrote itself. I still have to proof-read a couple of times, so if you find any typos, tell me._


	18. April 19th

**Chapter Eighteen: April 18th**

_Simple. Either that was Kira and all our previous assumptions about him were wrong or that was not Kira._

* * *

I shifted nervously, not sure what was expected of me. The person in the room wore a green mask and a green lab coat and white gloves, so it was impossible to distinguish if he was male or female, the only visible piece of skin being the narrow strip of his eyes. Truly, he seemed like a strange alien, buzzing from one side to the other, carrying sharp, pointy instruments or x-ray photographs. It was all so unnaturally white, so strangely clean, that I had the impression of stepping into a different world. Even the smell was sharper, unpleasant.

Next to me, Sandra rolled her eyes. "Come on, Jaylin, it's only a check-up." She gave me a little push towards the chair in the middle of the room, which was vaguely reminiscent of a medieval torture instrument."It'll be really short."

I resisted. "They are going to put those things," I articulated slowly, looking at the sharp instruments, "in my mouth? I refuse."

She really had forgiven me for the whole Coil fiasco, and now treated me the same as before, which was bossily. I didn't mind. At least she didn't hate me. Of course, if I did end up cooperating with Coil again, I would have to take extra precautions so she wouldn't find out.

On my other side stood Haru, surprisingly at ease. He had brought his blanket, which he wore over his head like a hood, and glanced around curiously, eyes wide and unafraid. "Are you scared?" he asked me in a whisper.

"Yes," I breathed back. The idea of any of those things in my mouth terrified me. Hair was good. Fingers were good. Sharp, cutting objects were not good. Even babies knew that. "Aren't you?"

He looked around again. "This place is so clean," he sighed contentedly. "It's all white."

If I hadn't feared for his sanity before, I did now.

The alien with the green mask turned to face us. "So, which of you three wants to go first?" Ah. So _it_ was a woman. We all stared at her silently. "It won't hurt, I promise." Sandra, the traitor, pushed me again and I stumbled forwards. "Oh, what's your name?" the woman asked kindly. I could actually imagine her mouth under the mask, all pointy teeth that stretched from ear to ear like a zipper.

"Gingerbread," I replied. "Gingerbread lollipop orange worms and rainbow jam." She seemed a bit puzzled, so I explained. "They are the things allowed to go inside my mouth. Fingers and hair are okay too. Those," I pointed decisively to the scalpel-like thing she was holding, "are not."

She seemed a bit taken aback by the blunt statement, and also slightly dismayed. "You only eat gingerbread?"

Sandra slapped my head. "Don't lie, Jay. Bonman makes us eat beans too."

The alien let out a small relieved sigh, but, after a heartbeat, her eyes narrowed again with apprehension. "Beans? You mean green beans, right?" It sounded like she didn't want to know the answer.

"Yes, those are my favourite," Sandra replied seriously. "Though Jaylin likes the blue ones better."

The alien looked as if she was about to have a heart attack. Good.

I learnt three things in the two hours I spent strapped to that chair, kicking and moaning. Firstly, my resistance to torture was mediocre. The alien hadn't even touched me yet and I was already offering her my Rubik's cube and my elastic if she let me go. When the metal point neared my mouth I shook my head and yelled that I'd even gift her my favorite chess set. Evidently, I was unsuccessful, though I couldn't understand why. It was a very nice chess set.

Secondly, having one's mouth anesthetized is a breach of human dignity. I couldn't articulate two words in a row for the next three hours. Olm, who had only come to watch, had a field day.

When it was over I sat up slowly, prodding my tender gums with my tongue. Bonman had been called inside the room with me, and now the woman was lecturing him about something. I shot her a murderous look, hoping she would accidentally stick herself in the eye with her metal knife of doom.

Bonman seemed perplexed. "I suppose I could try to make it sugar-free..." he mused, tapping his nose.

The alien was adamant. "No. That child had four cavities. Four. If you don't want her to lose all her teeth by the time she's thirty, you will forbid her from having any sweets. At all." I looked at my shoes, unconcerned. Bonman would never ban me from sweets. And even if he did, I was confident I would quickly devise a way to get them back. "Not to mention the other risks of that diet. Children can't grow by consuming only sugar! No wonder she's so small!"

"I guess I hadn't thought about that..." he trailed off. On and on the alien went, and Bonman nodded abashedly like a child. Then it was Sandra's turn. She had the expression of a soldier preparing for a suicide mission as she approached the torture chair, but, to give her credit, she didn't kick and scream half as much as I did.

The woman then took me aside and gave me instructions as to how to care for my teeth. With every sentence my eyes widened in horror. The third thing I learnt that day is that I must never, ever let Bonman take me to the dentist again, if I wanted to avoid permanent damage to my physical and mental integrity.

* * *

We were getting into the car to go back home when Bonman's cellphone rang. "Kira? On Sakura TV?" He motioned for Hans to turn on the mini-TV in the car.

I watched the screen silently, completely absorbed, twisting my elastic in my pocket as if my life depended on it. When the camera filmed the policeman dying in front of the double-glass doors my breath hitched, and Sandra started to cry.

I simply couldn't wrap my head around the reality of the situation. Kira addressing the citizens of Japan directly? It was a pitiful parody of L's broadcast, his own twisted version of a declaration of war. And it also put the best detective in the world in an extremely tight spot, his back against the wall with practically no room to breathe.

We arrived at the mansion, but nobody moved to get out of the car. Sandra punched her fist in the air and screamed "Yes! Take that, Kira!" when half of Tokyo's policemen rushed to the scene, clad in helmets and shields like an army ready to battle, forming an enormous human barrier to protect the men walking out of the studio. Even the reporter launched into an inspirational speech. "And there you have it! The police refuse to cooperate with Kira; instead, they are preparing to fight! As much as fear for my own life in saying so, this is right. And it must be done! Kira has become a threat to our very Constitution, to the freedom of humanity, and as citizens, we must fight back!"

My expression remained carefully blank, despite the trembling of my fingers. The actions of the police or the opinion of the masses didn't matter to me. What mattered was that, if L didn't work out something, he would die very, very soon.

When the broadcast ended the car was so silent I could hear my blood roaring in my ears. Soon. Whoever this person was, they would demand L to die soon. And though I was completely still, and probably would seem perfectly calm to anyone who didn't know me, Bonman and Sandra could read me well enough to recognize my agitation. "Jaylin, calm down," Bonman advised gently. "That is no way to think. Keep your cool."

He was right, of course. I took a deep breath, forcing my mind out of its shocked state, and immediately started analyzing what I had just seen. Once he saw in my eyes that I had reached a conclusion, he leaned back on the seat and asked, "What did you think?"

"It is very unlike Kira," I observed, "to kill off innocent news anchors who have no record of criminal activity. It's like those minor criminals from before. It goes against his ideals and his purposes."

Bonman nodded. "So you think he was somehow forced to do this?"

I frowned. "No. Kira is putting L in a very dangerous state of check. It's a move charged with too much initiative to be forced, so he really killed those bystanders just to prove his power. And then there's the policeman..."

"The one who died?" Sandra asked.

"Yes. The probabilities of Kira knowing his name beforehand are practically zero, and yet he still managed to kill him."

Bonman waited, and when I still didn't say anything, he gave up and asked, "So how do you explain that?"

I looked down at my shoes. "Simple. Either that was Kira and all our previous assumptions about him were wrong or that was not Kira." It was straightforward really, the only two logical outcomes.

Sandra frowned. "Not Kira? But he killed all those people!"

I nodded. "Yes. He killed the policemen with only their faces. So either Kira can kill with only a face or that was not Kira," I repeated. "But an impostor who has the same power as Kira, only stronger, because he doesn't need a name. A second Kira. Beta-Kira." I smiled, recognizing the parallel to my deductions on Coil. A curious coincidence. "That, or we were completely wrong about Kira's mentality and the nature of his power."

Bonman looked at me sideways, thoughts veiled. "Which do you think is more likely?"

"That's what I'm trying to decide," I replied, gnawing on my lip. Bonman sighed and motioned for Sandra to get out of the car. I followed, still thinking.

Which was more likely, that there was a second Kira out there or that Kira had suddenly defied all our assumptions? I was genuinely curious as to what L's reaction would be. Would his deductions be similar to mine, or would he arrive to a completely different conclusion? Whatever the case, he _had_ to come up with a plan, or he would die.

_Show me, L. What will you do?_

* * *

The second Coil was insanely intelligent. But of course, I knew that just from talking to him.

_Coil Alpha: corrupt, cheating bastard. Working on the premise that Coil Beta isn't, Coil Alpha's last appearance was during the Detective War, when he cheated by removing evidence. After losing he was replaced by Coil Beta._

There were no changes in the pattern. No gaps, no irregularities. He took the same kinds of cases with the same requests and the same results, even the same kind of clients. His reports were exactly the same as the first Coil's reports. He played the role flawlessly, so well, in fact, that he seemed to make an almost better Coil than his predecessor.

There was only one crucial difference. If I hadn't specifically been looking for it, I would have missed it. I doubted the fact had ever been noticed by anyone before, and if it had, it could be dismissed as puzzling but insignificant. To me, it was the most important finding since I started the investigation, and it confirmed all my suspicions.

His most recent photograph dated back to eight years ago.

I even asked Inspector Gwenn to look in police and government records. Any file picturing Coil showed that same photograph, eight years ago, or older ones. There wasn't a recent picture of him anywhere.

That confirmed it: the person acting as Coil had changed eight years ago, and he zealously guarded his identity. Coil Beta existed. It was pure mathematical logic. Perhaps he was even using the first Coil's identity with some sinister purpose... And what had happened to the first Coil then? Death was unlikely, though him allowing his identity being stolen had an even lower probability. There must be a third explanation.

Then there was the Detective War, which was now also confirmed as event x with nearly total certainty. There were photographs of Coil before the War. There were no photographs after the War. Logical conclusion: the switch had occurred during the War. Thus my theory of Coil Beta became fact.

The question remained. Who was the darn Coil Beta?

Sighing, I got up from the couch and started assembling the papers which were randomly spread out around me, on the floor and between the cushions. All irrelevant information. I carried them in my arms back to Bonman's study, dropping a sheet every so often, which Hans picked up behind me.

Bonman was bent over the desk, reading what seemed like a bill. I caught a glimpse of the title. Weeping Willow Orphanage. "You didn't tell me you donated money to the Willow," I commented, dropping the pile of paper on top of the desk.

He jumped, and then smiled wryly. "When I first met you, and you told me how bad the place was, I suppose I wanted to do something about it." He grimaced. "And later I guess I didn't want you to see me as one of those fools the Director was tricking." It was a plausible excuse, so I accepted it, though I didn't think any less of him for being tricked. On the contrary, the fact that Bonman had been caring for me since so far back touched a soft spot in my heart. "I donate to many orphanages."

I caught a glimpse of another paper. I had no trouble reading upside-down, despite the fact that I despised reading in general. "Even in England?"

He jumped again, and cleared his throat. "Yes. All around the world." My instincts shot up into the 'Bonman's secret' zone, and I managed to get another look at the paper before he hurriedly pushed it behind a different one. Wammy's House.

That event would be stored in my mind unused and unvisited for a long time. I was too preoccupied with Coil then to pursue my initial interest.

But eventually, I would go back for it. Wammy's House. It was the key.

* * *

_A.N: See that button just under this note? Don't be lazy and **CLICK IT**_.


	19. April 21st

**Chapter Nineteen: April 21st**

_He was empty. A dangerous kind of empty, like the deep void of a cliff._

* * *

Eight was a beautiful number. More even than two itself, it was perfectly symetrical in every way. The first cube of integers, two adjacent circles or a vertical infinity. Yes, eight was special.

Today, I turned eight.

Sandra woke me up pouncing on my bed. "Happy Birthday Jaylin!" she squealed in my ear, and I shot up like a rocket, immediately forgetting whatever I'd been dreaming about, my heart threatening to burst out of my ribs. She giggled, but before I had time to catch my breath another body rammed into me.

"Happy Birthday!" It was Haru, and I was more surprised by the fact that he was hugging me than that he was here so early in the morning. Haru had always avoided physical contact, as far as I could remember, but now his arms were so tight around my neck I had to struggle to breathe.

Sandra laughed harder at my expression of panic. "You're choking her, Haru, let go."

He retreated, smiling sheepishly. "Too tight?"

"A little. We'll need some more practice."

Had she been coaching him on how to _hug_ people?

But another sound caught my attention, and my head whipped towards the door. Olm was standing there, looking everywhere but at me and twisting his brown locks uncomfortably. "She can't hear you," Sandra sang, bouncing up to him.

He cleared his throat. "Happy Birthday." I simply stared, disbelieving. Olm had never wished me happy birthday before.

Sandra whirled back around, clapping her hands happily. "Now! Presents, presents, come on!"

I was more than slightly disoriented. At the orphanage, the only one who ever remembered my birthday was Sandra, and the only present I got from her was a new elastic every year. In fact, I wasn't even sure April 21st was my real birthday, as I doubted the Willow's records could be trusted. But that morning I received a box of cookies from Olm, Haru's favorite red Lego block, and a keychain from Sandra fashioned in the shape of a bishop. "Bonman also got you something," she winked, "but it's a surprise."

When I got dressed and went downstairs for breakfast Bonman was there, next to the biggest chocolate cake I had seen in my life. It was in the shape of an 8, a smaller ball of chocolate piled up on the bigger one, like a brown snowman covered with rainbow icing, and when I saw it I was rooted to the spot for a full twelve seconds. Then I ran up to Bonman and hugged him tighter than I ever had before. Haru thought it looked like fun and joined in.

Eight truly was a special number.

We were seated at the table, happily eating the cake, when Bonman announced, "I invited some people over today, to celebrate with us."

Sandra bobbed up and down on her chair excitedly. "Really? Who?"

"Do you remember Roger, the man who made you take a test a while back?"

That caught my attention. I looked up. "You know him?" What a coincidence.

Bonman looked at me sideways before smiling slightly. "He's actually an old friend of mine. And yes, he did tell me your result," he added before I could ask. "He said you failed, but not to worry, because it was a really hard test and very few people pass." I nodded; all had gone according to plan. "But he wanted to wish you happy birthday all the same."

Sandra scowled, remembering the sharp looks and dry words. "Roger wasn't very nice."

"Well, _you'll_ have to be nice to _him_. There's also a young man coming with him, so you'd better behave."

I pursed my lips skeptically. I didn't particularly enjoy the company of strangers, and Bonman knew that. Why inflict upon me the chore of meeting someone new on my birthday?

* * *

Roger arrived in time for afternoon tea, wearing his usual brown hat and long coat, despite the day being bright and sunny. He carried his brown case with him too. He congratulated me in a formal and slightly awkward manner before turning to greet Bonman in English. It only took me a second to make the necessary brain shift into another language. "Hello, old friend."

"Hello," Bonman replied, hugging him amicably, his blue eyes twinkling. "I trust everything is going well?"

Robert sighed. "It's very chaotic with Quillish gone. You should come and visit sometime." He noticed the curious looks we were shooting the shape behind him and moved aside, making a small gesture with one arm. "Ahem. This is Near."

Near was no young man, he was a boy. He could hardly be older than me, with his childish face and long sleeves that hung way past his fingertips. I stared at him unblinkingly, and he stared back. This was the person Bonman had wanted me to meet. Why?

I had always been good at hiding my emotions. No, that wasn't exactly right. When I needed to think I pushed my emotions far away so they wouldn't disturb the smooth mirror of my mind, so far away, in fact, that sometimes I forgot they were there, and sometimes it took me a while to get them back. But it was necessary. Only through a freezing objectivity could I understand an extreme viewpoint and its opposite at the same time. Only when I was perfectly calm could I freely examine a problem, analyze all reactions, and predict all possible outcomes.

I was only eight, but I already knew that normal people couldn't accomplish this to the same degree as I could. No matter how objective they tried to be, there was always a flicker of emotion, a ripple in their mirror that prevented them from truly seeing every angle, regardless of whether it pushed them in the right direction or not. In my short life I had never met anyone with the same ability I had. Not even Bonman when he played Chess. Not even Haru when he built castles.

Near, I realized as soon as I stared into his black, bottomless eyes, was an exception. He was a blank piece of paper, devoid of all color, his expression so neutral it almost wasn't an expression at all. He was like me. He could push all his emotions aside and judge a situation regardless of pressure or stakes. Even physically he was all white, white skin, white hair, white clothes, like an old photograph. His eyes bored into mine indifferently, and I suppressed a shiver.

He was empty. A dangerous kind of empty, like the deep void of a cliff. I found my features mirroring his instantly and my mind plunging further into the freezing mirror, as a sort of shield. Who was he? What was he doing here?

Probably one of the kids in Roger's orphanage for training detectives, I decided. That meant he had gotten to pattern Eleven at least, and it put me on my guard.

Bonman watched us stare at each other and smiled to himself, though I was too preoccupied with Near to register it. "Roger and I have things to discuss," he announced. "Why don't you kids play together for a while?" Without waiting for an answer, he steered Roger away, towards his office.

There was an awkward silence before Sandra took the lead, smiling at Near and holding out her hand. "Hello. My name is Queen. I'm ten. How old are you?"

I slammed my fists in my pockets and drifted away. I had the distinct feeling I wouldn't get my questions about Near answered by talking to him. "What?" Sandra exclaimed behind me. "You're twelve? No way! You can't be older than me. What kind of twelve-year-old wears oversized pajamas?"

I climbed the stairs lazily, and as soon as I was out of sight took off racing through the corridors and slammed the door to my room open. "Haru, I need you to do that thing with the computers again."

He was seated at my desk, clicking away on the computer as usual, and jumped when I ran in. "AAAAHHH?" he cried, letting go of the mouse. Haru was even less of a people person than I was. As soon as he'd heard about a stranger arriving, he had holed himself up in my room and refused to come down to greet him. In this case, it worked to my advantage.

"That thing you did," I explained. "I need you to connect to Bonman's computer in the study so we can see what he's doing. But without him noticing."

He recovered from the shock and swirled back around in his chair, a manic grin on his face. "A spying mission? Cool." The typing and clicking accelerated.

I waited impatiently, trying not to nag him as he worked. It was simply too much of a coincidence that Bonman and Roger were friends. I didn't buy his story. And then there was Near; I needed to know why they had brought him here. I took the time to go over the day of the test once again, to remember everything that was said, word for word, so I could draw on that information quickly should I need it. After a short time the window with the camera popped open on screen, and Haru gave me a thumbs up.

* * *

Bonman and Roger were standing in the study, quite close to the computer, which was fortunate because otherwise I wouldn't be able to hear what they were saying. They talked in English. I didn't know how well Haru could understand English, but by the intent look on his face I guessed he did have some sort of idea of what was being said, "It really has been a long time, hasn't it? Anything to eat? Drink?" Bonman proposed, taking a seat on the couch.

Roger sat in front of him. "Perhaps later."

"Mmm. When was the last time you came? Two years ago?"

Roger nodded, a slight smile forming on his lips. I'd never thought the serious old man capable of smiling. "March of 2002, I believe."

It appeared that they really were friends. I remembered Bonman saying he donated money to many orphanages, and quickly established that Roger's was probably one of them. "So," Bonman was saying. "As much as I enjoy your company, I'm afraid we'll have to talk business." His face turned gravely serious. "Why is Near in Japan?"

Robert sighed. "The kids wanted to come here on holidays. You know how they are; it's impossible to dissuade them when they get an idea in their heads. They wanted to visit the place the Kira case was happening in." He sighed again, more deeply, and started twisting his hat in his hands. "I had no choice but to say yes, after they threatened to explode the building. I can't handle them when they get like that. I don't know how Quillish managed it for so long."

Bonman gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "It will be easier eventually, Roger. Then they are all here?"

"Yes, all of them. We're staying at the Prince's Hotel downtown. We return to the orphanage next week."

Bonman nodded thoughtfully. "That still doesn't explain why you brought Near to my house."

"Yes, well." Roger straightened up and cleared his throat. "Do you remember I told you Jaylin failed her test? It turns out there's more to it."

Bonman smiled, and if I didn't know better I would say it was quite smug. "I told you it wasn't possible she had failed. She's a genius, anyone with two eyes can see that."

"Well, she knew the right answers," Roger replied, "but filled in the wrong ones on purpose. We don't know why yet."

I almost fell off my chair. Impossible. How could he have known? I had even checked the correct box in a couple of them to make it seem random. No one could have been able to figure it out. No one.

Bonman tapped his nose pensively. "On purpose? Are you sure?"

This was very quickly spinning out of my control. How had a casual visit from Roger escalated into this so fast? How did he know I had cheated?

"Yes. Ryuzaki himself confirmed it." I leaned close to the screen, until my nose was almost touching it. Ryuzaki? What Ryuzaki? No one could have been able to figure it out! I was the only one who knew I'd faked it, and I hadn't spoken to anyone about that test! And then he said something that baffled me. "She solved nineteen, Bonman. Only Near and Mello have ever made it that far."

Nineteen? No. That wasn't right. I hadn't made it to nineteen, not in the hour and a half Roger gave us. I had only worked out seventeen. Eighteen and nineteen I had solved later. How could he know?

And Near had solved nineteen too? My guard was now on full alert. There were too many questions coming to me all at once. It was almost surreal. I felt like I had accidentally stumbled into a decade-long conspiracy out of the blue, and I couldn't process it.

Bonman chuckled under his breath. "Nineteen, huh. Twenty always gets them. He shouldn't have made it so hard."

"This is serious, Bonman. She's a potential candidate. She needs to compete."

A candidate? A candidate for what? Abruptly Bonman's head snapped up, and he stared straight at us (well, at the camera) as if he'd just remembered our stunt with his computer a few weeks ago. He got up from the chair and walked straight towards it, his eyes small and suspicious. I held my breath.

I don't know how Haru did it, but when Bonman moved his mouse on the other end he seemed to be satisfied that it was obeying him. Haru grinned even wider. "Don't worry, he can't tell. I connected only the camera this time," he explained.

Nevertheless, for precaution's sake Bonman turned back to Roger and suggested that they continue this conversation in his bedroom. Roger looked at him strangely, but didn't protest as Bonman led him once more out of the study.

"Oh, shoot," Haru commented. "They're leaving..."

I was still too astonished by what I had heard to really pay him any mind. I took a deep, calming breath. I needed to think.

_I told you it wasn't possible she had failed_. Obviously Bonman was aware of the test and the questions in the test. But, even if he suspected I had failed on purpose, there was no way he could be absolutely certain. And the way Roger had said it left no room for doubt. _Ryuzaki himself confirmed it_. How had this Ryuzaki figured it out?

It would have been impossible for anyone to guess just from looking at my random answers alone. Ryuzaki must have had more information at his disposal than just the test paper. But I hadn't given anyone more information. There was no one I'd spoken to... Wait.

"Coil," I breathed.

My eyes were wide. Coil. I had given Coil more information. In fact, I had had tested him using those same exact patterns, without changing a single square. At the time, I thought that if a specialized institution used them, then they should indeed be accurate enough to judge a person's deductive skills.

But what if Coil had seen that test beforehand? If he knew there were twenty patterns, and I'd asked him up to nineteen... It was a given that I'd solved those nineteen, because otherwise I wouldn't have been able to check the validity of his answers.

The only one who could have known I'd solved Nineteen was Coil. Coil Beta. But only if he knew about the test beforehand. My head was swimming.

"Coil Beta is Ryuzaki," I told Haru. He looked back at me curiously. "He is linked to Roger's orphanage. So Roger lied to me when he said he didn't know Eraldo Coil." My fingers pulled on my elastic without a conscious order from my brain. "Bonman also lied, since he is obviously also linked to the orphanage and seems to be perfectly aware of Ryuzaki. They all lied."

I was too shocked by the sudden revelation to register the shuffling of feet behind me. They had all lied. And how much of a coincidence was it that I had stumbled on Coil, again? In a twisted mix of paranoia and megalomania, I suddenly had the feeling that it was all staged, that everyone around me was an actor who was playing a role, spinning a web of lies around me, and laughing because I was the only one who didn't know.

_E. coli_. I was just an _experiment_.

"You solved nineteen," a voice commented. It was flat and inexpressive, almost bored. "That explains it."

I slowly turned around. Near was standing in the doorway, twirling a strand of his hair between his fingers pensively. "Explains what?" I asked evenly. How could I not have noticed him? Where were Sandra and Olm?

"Why they brought me here." He walked to Haru's pile of Lego, sitting down next to them, and methodically started piling them on top of each other. "They want to see how we measure up. You're a new candidate." He said it without any particular inflection, as if it didn't bother him to be compared to an eight-year-old.

"A candidate for what?"

He didn't reply, just kept piling up the Legos.

Click.

Click.

Click.

* * *

_A.N: Whew, this one was long. I really appreciated everyone's honesty last chapter. Press the pretty button again?_


	20. April 21st, afternoon

_A.N: Sorry, this one is kinda short. BUT I made it up by getting a new cover for the story! Isn't it awesome?  
_

_(Alright, so I didn't draw it, my sis did. Awesome sis is awesome, right?)_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty: April 21st, afternoon**

_I'm surprised you haven't figured it out yet. From what I overheard, you have all the premises._

* * *

Since the 5th of December.

The 5th of December, I had asked Bonman about the second best detective in the world for the first time. _I think that, besides L, there were two others_, he'd replied. _Yes, two others, but I can't remember their names. _The liar.

I didn't even look at him as I shifted the green beans around on my plate. Green beans, the real vegetable ones. Apparently, the cake this morning had been an exception. Bonman had taken the dentist's threats to heart and had resolved to make our diet healthier.

We had been investigating Coil together since the 5th of December. For months we had struggled through impossibly vague reports, through police records, through old newspapers, going so far as to dip into unreliable magazine articles. We had gone over every person claiming to be Coil on the internet, examined their profiles carefully, dismissed them. And just when I felt I was finally getting closer to the truth, I found out he'd known _all along_. He'd known all along, and he hadn't said anything. Every piece of information he had revealed to me wasn't an exciting discovery, but a carefully considered move on his part to steer me in the direction he wanted. For months he had been leading me by the nose, laughing internally as I tried to figure out a mystery he already knew the solution to. He'd known Ryuzaki all along.

I noticed I was holding my fork too tightly and relaxed my hand. Near, who was sitting opposite me, watched me through unreadable black eyes.

"Near will be staying with us for a few days," Bonman announced to the table, but I barely registered it.

Betrayal tasted bitter, forming a knot in my throat that prevented me from swallowing. Now I knew how Sandra felt when she'd discovered I'd been investigating behind her back.

I found myself questioning every aspect of my relationship with him, reviewing every conversation, doubting every word he had ever spoken to me. More and more I started believing everything was a lie, even his motives for adopting me. Every Rainbow Jam he gave me, every chess game that made me feel so happy, was it all just a ploy to gain my trust?

He had played me like a mere _pawn_. My hand clenched over the fork again, knuckles turning white. But I was a much more powerful piece than a pawn. He should have remembered that.

Around me, the dinner table was cheerful. Sandra had managed to draw Roger into her conversation with Olm, and Haru was complaining to Bonman about the menu. Only Near and I remained silent. Near. Near probably knew everything too, just like Roger and Bonman, though perhaps he wasn't aware of the extent of my contact with Coil. What were we supposed to compete for? I glanced up at him, and once again got the odd feeling of staring into a void. He wouldn't give me any answers either.

I jumped off the chair. "Where are you going, Jaylin?" Bonman asked, frowning slightly. I was unable to decide wether the concern in his blue eyes was genuine or faked.

"I'm not feeling very well," I explained, and left the dining-room without waiting for a reply. Like a robot I climbed the stairs to my room and flopped lifelessly on the bed, staring at the ceiling. After a while I got out my cellphone and glared at the only name on the contact list. _E. coli. Or, in other words, Ryuzaki. _My finger hovered over the call button. No. That would be like admitting defeat, and I intended to _win, _especially after today. I put the phone back in my pocket.

So I did what I usually did when I was distraught and needed a break, which was lose myself in some of L's old case files. There weren't many, only two or three we had managed to gather from different police offices around the world, but I treasured them more than my chess set. They were my only link to the person I admired most, and also my own version of homework. After all, if I was planning to become a detective in the future, why not learn from the best there was? My favorite was The Smiler Case, about a serial killer whose victims were all women, found with their heads chopped off and their lips sewn together with thread. Macabre, but it fit my somber mood. At the time, L wasn't yet as widely known as today, and his resources were limited. Apparently, he hacked into classified databases to get all the information he needed, and the following day the police found a detailed profile of the criminal's identity in their mailbox. Thus they were able to move in and save the latest victim from her grim fate; though they didn't get there fast enough to prevent the Smiler from raping her.

All the evidence L provided was solid and conclusive, but the means he used to acquire it weren't always clear. I briefly thought about Kira, how he was planning to get enough evidence to convict such a mysterious murderer. Then I looked at the date of the report. September 23rd, 1995. Four months before the Detective war. Nine months before I was born.

I shot up on the bed, before relaxing. No, it wasn't possible. I couldn't be the offspring of a serial killer and the last woman he raped, it was too much of a coincidence. Though the Smiler Case _had_ happened in Japan, and if you squinted your eyes a little he did sort of look like me... I twisted my head, as if that would give me a better angle on his prison photograph.

Well, if it was true, it would certainly explain why my mother had abandoned me at an orphanage. It would also be an interesting turn of fate. If it weren't for L finding my mother before my father killed her, then I would never have been born. Though honestly, who my biological parents were held little interest for me. They were completely irrelevant to my current situation.

Pushing the report aside I sat down at the computer chair, chewing on my hair pensively. It was high time I found out what they were all hiding. They must have had a reason to protect Coil's - Ryuzaki's - identity so zealously, there must be a logical reason why he didn't show his face. Maybe it was because of Kira, but no, that couldn't be, because it had been going on since the Detective War. Besides, it didn't make sense that Ryuzaki would fear Kira, not unless he was publicly opposing him. The only detective in this moment who had a good reason to keep his identity secret was L.

"I'm surprised you haven't figured it out yet," Near's toneless voice called from the doorway. He seemed to have a knack for popping up when I least expected him. Once again he walked over to the pile of Lego and sat down, drawing one knee close to his chest. "From what I overheard, you already have all the premises." Click. Click. Click.

"You speak in retrospect," I replied distractedly. "Your judgement is biased."

"Mmmm... Perhaps you're right." He sounded detached, like the question didn't interest him all that much. Then again, I doubted Near could show interest in anything.

I turned back to the computer screen. The Detective War. Event x. I was certain that there was something about it I'd missed. Why had Coil Alpha been replaced by Coil Beta, why after the Detective War? Was it because he'd lost to L? And who would have the skill and deductive abilities to replace the second best detective in the world, to keep taking on cases with the same difficulty, without anybody noticing? After all, only L had managed to best Coil...

Hang on.

Only L could best Coil... My heart must have missed three beats.

No, it couldn't be.

But wait...

Nah, it was silly.

My fingers flew over the keyboard, blood hammering in my ears. No, that was ridiculous. I looked for _Deneuve_, for photographs of him, and all I found were old ones, from more than eight years ago. A coincidence, I told myself, wiping my sweaty palms on my shorts. I looked for _L's first case -_ barely seventeen years ago, and if he'd solved it at age seven like I had, then he was in his twenties now. Hah! It was impossible, impossible. But as I kept shifting through pages of information on the three best detectives in the world, as new windows popped up, and nothing, _nothing_ contradicted my sudden illumination, I found myself leaning back on my seat, staring at the screen disbelievingly.

Ridiculous. It was ridiculous.

And yet everything fell into place. The revelation was so shocking I could do nothing but stare. It was so obvious now. All that time I had been asking the right questions - but until now I'd never put them together.

Someone who was younger than the original Coil. Someone who was just as skilled as the original Coil. Someone who had also taken Deneuve's identity after the War; someone who could comfortably handle both their identities. Someone who was in Japan for a big case. Someone who couldn't afford to reveal his face.

There was only one person in the entire world who fit those criteria.

And, once I had accepted it, everything just _clicked_. All the pieces came together in a great _whoosh_, and I finally saw the picture in its entirety. Bonman's secrecy, Roger, the orphanage for detective children, the War, Kira. All the research I'd done over the past months fell into place. Every anecdote, every detail, it all suddenly made _sense_.

L wasn't just the best detective in the world. He was the best _three_. Coil and Deneuve, they were just two of L's _aliases_.

That meant I had been talking to _L_ all this time. I got out my phone and stared at it incredulously. "Took you long enough," Near commented, not even lifting his gaze from the Lego.

I turned towards him. My tongue felt slow and sluggish. "Near," I asked for the second time that day, "what are we supposed to compete for?" Out of them all, Near was the only one who hadn't lied to me. He hadn't told me the truth either, but he hadn't lied.

He remained silent for a long time. But in the end, he answered. I had already figured it out anyway, all I needed was to hear it from his lips. "Our orphanage is a special institution for gifted children," he informed in a monotone. "Its primary objective is to provide a successor to the detective known as L. At the moment, I am the first candidate to succeed him. Though Roger seems to think you could be a worthy contestant."

I looked back down at my phone. _E. coli_.

Without even a second of hesitation, I pressed the call button.


	21. April 21st, evening

_A.N: I completely forgot about this last chapter, but thanks a bunch to my anonymous reviewers! Maybe you guys could stop being mysterious lurkers and sign in so I can PM you. Unless you actually _like_ being mysterious lurkers, of course._

* * *

**Chapter 21: April 21st, evening**

_Your successor? I won't be your successor. I refuse to be a crow, spinning above your head, waiting for you to die so I can peck at your bones. I will not compete with Near for your corpse. The idea sickens me._

* * *

Looking back on it, I realize the day of my eighth birthday was probably one of the turning points of my life.

The discovery of Coil's true identity was a blow to the head. Even after Near confirmed it I couldn't quite believe it was true. Everything had moved so fast - I had gone from being in the dark for months to suddenly staring at the sun straight on, and I hadn't given my eyes enough time to adjust. So even as I put the phone to my ear, I still felt like I was in a dream. My thoughts were perfectly clear but it was as if I watched them externally, from behind a glass wall. It took the concept of thinking in mirrors to a whole new level.

The first monotonous beep sounded.

Still, I recovered my footing quickly. The first thing that crossed my mind was that L only took cases that interested him - essentially, cases that involved ten or more victims, or more than ten million dollars. Ultimately, he also took cases that everybody else deemed unsolvable, even if they were small; I'd always suspected he did it more as a way to keep himself entertained than because he felt any real need to help.

The phone beeped again.

Which brought me to a puzzling question: why had he decided to help us find Haru? It hardly involved ten victims, and it certainly wasn't difficult compared to his usual cases. So why... "Yes?" Coil's voice answered from the other end.

I drew in a sharp breath and forced myself to calm my speeding heart rate. Not Coil's voice, L's voice. I was talking to L. The man who had single-handedly destroyed whole terrorist groups, crushed mafia empires, and revealed _four_ assassination conspiracies against the President of the US like it was nothing. My eyes slid to Near, who was watching me curiously, and I realized I didn't want him listening. So I got up and locked myself in the bathroom.

"This is Bishop," I informed as a mere formality. He already knew it'd be me from the caller ID. I was satisfied to find my voice was even despite my internal turmoil.

"I do remembering distinctly telling you I'd be the one to call you," he replied dryly. "I'm quite busy at the moment. Please don't do this again."

"Busy with the Kira case?" I asked before he could hang up.

There was only the briefest of pauses. Would he deny it? "I hope, on concern for your own safety, that you are alone," he warned.

"I am."

"In that case, then yes, I'm busy trying to catch Kira."

My breath left my mouth in a quiet "ah," and my heart flipped in my chest. He really was L. There was no more room for doubting now. And he just admitted it so casually, not caught off-guard at all. Like it wasn't all that important that I'd figured it out, or... Like he'd been expecting it. My eyes suddenly narrowed to slits. "You knew I would find out," I accused, as I finally understood what it was all about. I'd seen the whole picture, but only only now I understood _what_ it was. "That's why you provided me with a direct way to contact you. You expected I would find out..." Could it be possible? Could he have planned that far ahead?

"I was counting on it, yes. I could hardly ask you to cooperate on L's cases while working under the alias Coil."

He'd been _counting_ on it? I chewed on my hair, frowning. "No," I almost - almost - spat out, barely managing to control myself at the last second and speak in a normal tone. "This was another test. You were testing my deductive skills again."

There was a silence from the other end. "Well, you have gotten better," he breathed, the undertone of surprise tainting his usual impassiveness. He reminded me of Near, in a way. Or perhaps it was the other way round - Near sounded a bit like L. Though I supposed that if he was meant to be his successor then it wasn't all that strange.

Things between us hadn't changed that much from before. Coil or L, I had known he was an important detective from the beginning. Of course it changed things for me - to discover I'd been manipulated for so long, to discover I'd been so close to my _hero _for such a long time - but in our basic interaction it hardly meant a difference.

He said I'd gotten better, but I didn't think so. After realizing the extent of Bonman's betrayal I had simply become more suspicious, of everyone. Though, as I would quickly learn, being paranoid was practically a vital part of a detective's nature. "Do you do that to everyone you work with?" I asked curiously. He was L after all, I'd better learn what I could from him while I had the chance.

"Normally I settle for a thorough background check," he admitted. "But yes, sometimes I must set up tests to determine whether my potential associates are trustworthy and competent."

Curiosity was gnawing at my brain like a parasite. "So did I pass? Am I going to be your associate?" Liquid anticipation pulsed through my veins, making my fingers jittery, and my hand clenched tighter around the phone.

"Mmm..." He sounded like he was chewing something, then swallowing it. "Barely."

I just waited for him to explain himself, confused.

"You barely passed. I had given you twenty days to work it out. If you hadn't discovered it by then, I would have cut off this line permanently." My eyes widened, and I quickly flipped back through my memory to the date of our first conversation. Eighteen days ago. Well, that had been a close shave. If Roger and Near had arrived just a bit later, I wouldn't have made it. "As it is, you have proved your deductive skills to be indeed worthy. But..." He swallowed again, "I'm not going to work with you after all. Mmm, this is quite good. I can see why you like it."

Disappointment sank in my stomach. He wasn't going to ask for my help? Why? I'd been looking forwards to it, waiting excitedly for a new case, hoping, in the deepest parts of my mind, for perhaps even the Kira case. "Are you eating a Rainbow Jam?" I asked, partly because I was cuious, partly to give myself time to order my thoughts. Those crunching noises were achingly familiar.

"Yes. I had a box ordered this morning."

"Why?"

"I was curious."

"I mean, why have you changed your mind about me?"

"A person I respect has pointed out that using a young child as a tool for an investigation is rather unethical." It was obvious, the way he phrased it, that he personally didn't think it was unethical or, if he did, he didn't care that it was.

"You have used unethical means before."

"Yes, but this is different." Crunch, crunch, crunch. There was something malicious about the way he did it, like he wanted to make me feel jealous. It wouldn't surprise me if he knew about my disastrous trip to the dentist. "That person has also suggested an alternative, and at length, I do believe it's the best choice."

An alternative? "I don't want to compete with Near," I stated bluntly.

"That's surprising. I would have thought you'd be ecstatic about becoming my successor." It was difficult to tell if he was truly surprised or not, since his tone was as blank as ever. L lied, I realized. He lied all the time. Every conversation was a sparring match for him, and the challenge lay in knowing when he meant what he said and when he meant the exact opposite.

A successor to L... The words immediately made me flinch. "I won't be your successor. I refuse to be a crow, spinning above your head, waiting for you to die so I can peck at your bones." My face scrunched up in disgust. Sparring match or not, I had to make it clear where I stood. "I will not compete with Near for your corpse. The idea sickens me."

He didn't reply immediately. "That's quite a melodramatic metaphor."

"But it's true. You speak as if your own death is inevitable and will happen soon."

"Death is inevitable," he pointed out, "and mine has a high chance of happening soon, given the nature of the case I'm working on. I must prepare for all eventualities." I didn't like it. I didn't like how L, the best three detectives in the world, spoke like he expected to die, like he accepted it, like it was just another fact in the pile of facts of the Kira case. As if reading my mind, he added thoughtfully, "That is not to say I intend to die, though. Quite on the contrary, I intend to _win_."

I wanted to ask him about Kira's broadcast, about what he was going to do, how he planned to outmaneuver Kira this time, but I wasn't so arrogant as to think he would reveal his next moves to me. It was his case, his game one-on-one against Kira, and I doubted he wished for anyone else to butt in. But that didn't make my feelings of anticipation lessen.

I still had the nearly unshakable desire to work with him, with the man I'd looked up to for so long, or to work _under_ him, it didn't really matter. I wanted to know how he thought, how he acted, how he _played_. Not just out of curiosity, but because I also wanted to learn. "You're a King," I blurted out. "The most important piece on the chessboard, but your movements are limited. I'm a Bishop. I can move to places you can't reach, I can control squares that are far away from you. It would be a waste of resources to leave me unused in a corner. Not to mention, you already have successors," I added. "Near and... Mello, why would you need a third one?" I'd cited Mello's name as a guess, though it was an educated guess, since Roger had said Mello had solved Nineteen too.

"Mmmm..." I held my breath. Those were the two most convincing arguments I could think of. "Yes, I agree. I already have many successors." He seemed to reach a decision. "Very well then. A Bishop is the perfect piece for it. I want you to investigate the disappearance of Naomi Misora, former FBI agent and fiancee of Raye Penber, also a former FBI agent. Though please, do not speak of it to anyone but me. I don't want to lose a Bishop, not so early in the game."

I read between the lines easily enough. To him, I was an element which he'd rather not lose so _early in the game_ but could afford to sacrifice _later_, and it wouldn't really matter since he _already had many successors_. L was warning me that he truly planned to use me, that despite it being _unethical_ he would use me like a piece on a board.

I didn't care. My palms were sweaty as I stared at the dead phone in my hands, my lips stretched into a shaky smile. The best detective in the world had given me a puzzle. Whether it was truly relevant or just another one of his tests wasn't important either.

I was going to _solve_ it.

* * *

When I stepped out of the bathroom Near was still as I'd left him, sitting with one knee drawn to his chest. He looked up at me briefly before returning to his structure which was now level with his chin. I could practically feel the gears spinning behind his unreadable black eyes, spinning so fast they made sparks, though if he reached a conclusion he didn't share it.

L's successor. I truly saw him like a crow then, waiting patiently for L to fall so he could step in and take his turn. "It won't happen," I told him. "L will win."

He didn't even bother to look up. "If L wins, he wins. If he loses, he loses. I'm just here in case Fate decides on the latter." He placed another Lego block on the structure. "Were you speaking with him just now?" he asked blandly, like he didn't know the answer already.

I nodded, still watching him.

"Interesting." He hooked a finger around a strand of white hair, and finally deigned to look up at me. "I have never talked to L before. I wonder why he's taken such an interest in you."

We just stared at each other silently, unblinkingly. I'd never been good at staring at people in the eyes, but Near's were different. The black emptiness had a sort of pull to it, a gravitational force, and if I stared long enough I saw something familiar there, like a black filament of... _Thought_... constantly twisting and winding. Near might be an emotionless sheet of paper, but there _was_ thought behind his eyes, and even if his words or actions didn't betray it, it was always advancing, always calculating, always measuring coldly.

L had clearly instructed not to tell anyone about it, and that included his own successor, so I kept my mouth firmly shut. After a while of staring Near returned to his blocks, letting the issue drop for now.

I sat on my bed. So. Naomi Misora. L had specified she was a former FBI agent, and that she was also married to an FBI agent. Did this have something to do with the twelve FBI investigators who had been killed by Kira in December? Unfortunately, before I was really able to dive into the case, the door to my room opened again, revealing Olm, Haru and Sandra. She was bobbing up and down excitedly, holding a paper between her hands. "Bishop, guess what?"

I glanced at the smug smile on Olm's face, at Haru's indifferent expression, and back at the paper in her hands, and guessed. "Olm got a picture of Coil Alpha."

Her excitement faded slightly. "How did you know?" I shrugged, and she shook her head. "Well, he did. What do you think?" She approached the bed and showed me the photograph.

Coil was exactly how I had pictured him: an Englishman in posh clothes, not unlike the ones Bonman wore, a mustache, and a cane. But there was also something slightly roguish about him, something a bit shifty around the edges of his smile. He was shaking hands with Olm's ostrich of a mother, his other hand around the shoulders of a little girl, which I immediately recognized as Olm's sister. "So, what do you think?" Sandra asked, a spark of her earlier enthusiasm coming back. "Does this prove that Coil has changed?"

I looked down at my feet. "Hardly. We don't know what the Coil we spoke to looks like, so we can't compare."

She frowned down at it. "Oh."

"But it does tell us that Coil Alpha is quite old," I added, "and Coil Beta didn't sound old over the phone, though we can't be sure."

She stared at it some more, her lips pursed.

"This is what I think," I stated, getting out my elastic for good measure. If I was going to fool them, then I had to make it look like I really was thinking. "Coil Alpha went into retirement after the Detective War because he was old, and ashamed of being caught cheating. Coil Beta," I paused for effect (well, after hanging around Sandra for so long I was bound to pick up some of her acting skills) "is Coil Alpha's son."

Haru shot me a look, though, as I expected, he didn't contradict me. Sandra grimaced. "His son? That's awfully boring."

"But it makes sense," I replied. "Coil Beta wanted to clear his father's name and make up for the mistakes he'd made, so that's why he became an honest detective. And besides, only someone directly under Coil Aplha's tutelage would have been able to imitate him to the point of no one suspecting anything." The lies came surprisingly easily, even though I hadn't given them much thought. And Eraldo Coil did have a son, who went by the name of George. The only loophole was that George was a businessman, not a detective, but I doubted they would investigate that far. Sandra always did trust my deductions.

This time, the guilt I felt was minimal. I was lying to protect my King after all, and, though the Queen was important, she didn't really compare.

Sandra seemed disappointed, but put up a front nonetheless. "Very well then. I declare the Coil case solved. Maybe the next time he calls we can blackmail him with it," she added distractedly, before turning to walk back out the door. Haru followed her like a good puppy, blanket drawn protectively around his shoulders.

Olm glared at me openly. Perhaps he was frustrated by my dismissing his hard-earned piece of evidence so quickly, or perhaps I hadn't been that great an actress, because he took a step forwards and announced, "I don't believe you, freak."

I shrugged again and looked down, feigning indifference.

"I think you're still hiding things from us."

Since I remained unresponsive, he eventually left, grumbling about freaks. I took a moment to glare at the closed door.

Olm was somehow making himself into more and more of a nuisance lately. Regardless of whether he'd wished me Happy Birthday or not.

* * *

_A.N.: It just occurred to me, do you guys actually bother reading the little snippets at the beginning of each chapter, and if so, do you like them? Or do you think they're completely unnecessary and take some of the suspense out of the chapter?_


	22. April 24th

_A.N: Okay, so I wasn't planning to put this one up till tomorrow, but man, the reviews! 100 of them, I'd never thought I'd make it to the triple digits! You guys rock!_

_2lazy2login: Keeping the canon characters IC is THE thing I'm having most trouble with in this fic - but then again, I suppose the very essence of fanfiction means that at some point, somewhere, something about the canon is going to change. And while I'm doing my best to make this story as realistic as possible (given the circumstances), it's actually quite hard. Glad you like it either way :)_

_Hi: It makes sense. Thanks :)_

* * *

**Chapter 22: April 24th**

_Bonman, I think I want to change my name._

* * *

Naomi Misora: joined the FBI in 2001. Quit in September 30, 2003, to start a family with Raye Penber, also an FBI agent. Arrived to Japan with him shortly after to visit her parents, but their stay was extended when Penber was appointed as one of the twelve FBI agents to investigate the Japanese police on L's orders.

The information hadn't been too hard to find. The agents' deaths had been made public after all, broadcasted on the news - "Kira strikes at FBI" and in fact, had been the origin of much of the criticism L received, the start of the claims that he was incompetent. Raye Penber had died on the 27th of December, and Naomi Misora had been missing since January 1rst - with only four days of separation, both events were clearly linked.

_Raye Penber was an honest, brave, patriotic agent, and we all suffer his loss tremendously. I can understand Naomi's grief - but even if she has disappeared, I refuse to believe she could be dead. She was an excellent agent, even more so than her husband, her investigative abilities having been proved time and time again in her various assignments. I refuse to believe she could have committed suicide. -_ J.G. Adams.

Well, four months had passed. She was, in all likelihood, dead, regardless of what Adams believed. But if L had thought she'd simply committed suicide, he wouldn't have asked me to investigate it. There was obviously something more to it, and it probably had to do with Kira.

Then I found out Naomi Misora had worked under L before. Just like me.

The Los Angeles BB murder cases, or the Wara Ningyo murders, had drawn quite a lot of attention back in the day, since the murderer was so peculiar he actually gave clues to the police as to when and where his next murder would take place, as well as who would be the victim. Unfortunately, as was customary with L's cases, the details of it weren't very clear, except that Naomi Misora had assisted L in capturing the criminal and he was sent to a high security prison in another part of the US... where he was killed by Kira on January 21st.

That alone spoke miles of her investigative skills, much more so than Adam's declaration. If she had worked under L, then she truly had to be astounding. I pursed my lips. Naomi Misora, L's agent, gone missing after her fiancé was killed by Kira... I spent half an hour looking through information on the other dead agents, but none of their close friends or relatives had gone missing. No, Naomi was the only one.

There was a knock on my door. "It's unlocked," I called, turning off the computer screen.

It was Hans. He carried a packet in his hands, a generic brown envelope with nothing written on it, except for the label _Bishop_ in a corner. "From Mr. Ideal Color again," he explained, and I wordlessly held out my hand.

He gave it to me and turned to leave without a word. I watched him silently. Hans might be in on it too, and even if he wasn't he would undoubtedly head straight to Bonman's study and tell him about the envelope. Since Bonman was already aware of my cooperation with Coil, it didn't really matter, but the pang of betrayal still hurt. I wondered if he suspected I'd found out the truth, then pushed the thought away. I had to concentrate on my case.

The envelope was full of confidential information on Naomi Misora, her history as an agent, her address in the US, the addresses of friends and relatives, and all the progress the police had made so far on the investigation of her disappearance. There were, however, no pictures of her, only a police sketch - why would L send me a police sketch instead of a picture? Immediately I realized that it was because he really did think that Kira was involved. On the off chance that Naomi was still alive, it was dangerous for me to show a picture of her, because Kira could use it to kill her. But this implied something else, something much more important: L was warning me it was possible Kira could be among the people I interrogated. He was warning me to be careful.

Perhaps I would meet Kira himself, the dark King on the other side of the board... My heart was already racing.

I got up. Whatever the case, it was clear what L wanted me to do: gather evidence. He already had a theory; what he needed was decisive proof. And I wouldn't get proof by sitting at my desk all day.

* * *

Naomi's parents were an elderly couple. Her father was Japanese, while her mother was American, a small, frail old lady.

Anyone who took a look at their faces would immediately be able to tell that they were torn by grief. Their eyes were sunken, exhausted, full of sorrow, like they'd become wary of hoping. Their actions were languid and indifferent, and sometimes, I caught the mother looking around the room forlornly, as if she couldn't quite remember what she was supposed to do or why she was supposed to go on. They were so lost, in fact, that they didn't even bat an eye when I showed up at their doorstep, introducing myself as Bishop of the Chess Detectives, like it was the most normal thing in the world for an eight-year-old to question them about their missing daughter. They just sighed and nodded sadly. I wasn't as insensitive as Near, but such open displays of emotion had always made me uncomfortable.

I sat on their living-room couch, my back straight, the figments of manners Bonman had drilled into me finally coming in handy. I couldn't help my fingers from toying nervously with the elastic in my pocket, though. "Mr and Mrs Misora, I'm truly sorry about your daughter. I... admired her. I still do." It wasn't a lie. After learning of her exploits, after learning about how she'd helped L, I did respect and admire Naomi, as an investigator at least. Mrs Misora lifted up her eyes, but otherwise my words didn't cause any other reaction. "I believe she was an exemplary investigator. And I don't believe she committed suicide."

Mr Misora made a tired gesture with one arm. "It has been nearly five months," he stated hollowly. "The police have stopped searching. She is most likely dead."

"There is no corpse," I pointed out, trying to make my voice as soft as possible.

And, looking at their faces, I realized that was the problem, that there was no corpse. Since they didn't know for sure that she was dead, there was still a spark of hope in their hearts, and though it got smaller and smaller with each passing day, it would never truly go out. Somewhere deep inside they would keep believing that she was still alive, even if all the odds were against them; and it was that uncertainty what was destroying them. The pain of not being able to grieve their daughter properly hurt more than if they had known for certain. Instead they were _forced_ to keep hoping even when it was absurd, they were _forced_ to stay teetering on the cliff between hope and hopelessness. Because there was no corpse.

I looked down. I'd never been good with emotions; all I was good at were puzzles. So I plunged in the puzzle, shielding myself from all the emotion weighting down on the room that made it hard to breathe.

If L's theory was right, if Naomi Misora had been murdered by Kira, then it must be because he considered her a threat. Perhaps she had managed to uncover information on Kira that he didn't want known, and thus he decided to get rid of her. One thing was clear: Penber's death was the catalyst. In those four days between the 27th and the 1st Naomi had done something to gain Kira's attention, something that would subsequently lead him to want to kill her. "Mr and Mrs Misora," I started, "did you see or talk to your daughter in the days leading up to her disappearance?"

They looked at each other, then Mrs Misora sighed. "Yes, we did, of course we did. After Raye died we insisted she stay with us instead of in her hotel suite, but she refused. We have already mentioned this to the police."

They had; but I needed to make sure. L didn't seem to completely trust police reports, he'd told us to check crime scenes ourselves. "This is important," I explained, leaning forwards. "Did she say why she didn't want to stay with you? In fact, did she say anything out of the ordinary at all? A word she wouldn't normally use, a request she wouldn't normally make?"

My reasoning was simple. If Naomi had truly found out something about Kira, then she would be extremely cautious about it. More than anyone, she knew Kira was dangerous, since her lover had just died at his hands. If she was aware that she held some sort of vital information, she would have at least considered the possibility that he would want to kill her. And, being the skilled investigator that she was, she must have designed a way for that information to be preserved even if she died. Like notes, or...

"Well," Mr Misora started, "she did tell us to look after her diaries, didn't she?"

Mrs Misora looked at him. "She did? I don't remember."

"Yes, she did. You know, those in the pink box she used to write in when she was little?"

"Oh, those. Yes, I remember."

I inhaled sharply. "Can you cite her exact words." It wasn't really a question.

Mr Misora looked up to the ceiling thoughtfully. "She said, 'Dad, I want you to look after my diaries. They have everything I did written on them.'" He recited slowly, vocalizing every letter. I was impressed by his memory - normal people couldn't usually recall such a far-back conversation word for word. "After she disappeared, I went through them, to see if they could give us a clue as to where she was. But she hadn't written on them since she was twelve. The police said that she probably meant it as a last wish, as a way to leave some sort of memory on this Earth before committing suicide." His tone dropped and became monotonous and _dead_ towards the end.

"I don't think she committed suicide," I repeated.

His eyes returned to my face. I saw something in them then, a spark. "Then what do you think?"

"I think," I started slowly (it was safe to tell him. The likelihood of Mr Misora being Kira was... Zero), "that Miss Naomi was targeted because she possessed some vital information. I think she must have left that information somewhere so it could be found even if something happened to her." I used the word targeted, not murdered, because there was no corpse. I frowned. And that was a mystery in itself. If Kira had really killed her, then he must have expressly done it in such a way that her body wouldn't be found. I knew he could control the time of death, but that he could also control the circumstances surrounding it seemed a bit far-fetched. Perhaps he had killed her and disposed of her body later...

The spark in his eyes became brighter, turning into a flame. "You think Kira killed her like he did Raye?"

I nodded - it wasn't really that surprising. Naomi had to get her investigative skills from somewhere.

Mr Misora's lips thinned into a grim line. His wife put a calming hand on his knee, but the anger in his eyes didn't recede. It devoured away at the sadness, and, when he spoke again, I could finally detect some sort of drive in his voice, something different from the hollowness from before, a will to go on. "I will help you."

Certain emotions were truly a mystery to me.

* * *

The dinner table was unusually silent. Sandra was normally the one to provide the conversation, but today she seemed to be in a bad mood, probably because of the broccoli. Near sat opposite me, shifting around the broccoli and taking a bite every so often. I didn't even dare _look_ at the broccoli. "Jaylin," Bonman started, breaking the silence, "what have you been doing today?"

"Reading," I lied. "In the library." My eyes started shifting towards my plate and I immediately averted them back up. Perhaps I could try to eat the broccoli without looking at it...

He looked at me frankly. "You think reading is extremely boring."

"They have a Chess section."

That seemed to be the keyword Bonman had been waiting for, because he immediately asked avidly, in a way that betrayed he'd been thinking about that question for a long time, "Have you played Chess with Near yet?"

"No."

"Why don't you play after dinner? I think he'll be a challenging opponent."

"Alright," I replied blandly. I wasn't going to play Chess with Near just to satisfy Bonman's curiosity. Like I'd told L, I had no intention to compete.

Near was staying with us until the end of the week apparently, when he and the rest of the kids of his orphanage were going back to England. I had to admit, even if I wasn't planning to play against him, I was curious. L's successor must have been more than decent at Chess, and it'd been a long time since I'd come across a challenge. The Junior tournament Bonman signed me up for last month had been a breeze.

"Bonman, I've been thinking," I started, partly because I had to bring this up as soon as possible, partly to push back the moment I'd have to put the _broccoli_ in my mouth.

"Yes?"

"I think I'd like to change my name."

He looked confused, even Sandra looked up. "Your name?"

"My last name. I want it to be the same as yours."

He digested this information, and a small smile lit up his face. "Oh."

I smiled back, looking into his eyes for once. "Yeah. I don't care for my real parents anyway. I'd like to have your name."

"Yeah, me too!" Sandra chirped up. "I want to have your name!"

Bonman's smile widened. "Well, I suppose I can take care of it. If it's what you want." He reached over the table and gave me a fond pat on the shoulder, his eyes twinkling. I smiled back.

My name and last name had been pinned to the basket I'd been found on, according to Jun. When I was two he retrieved the card and taught me how to write it - and frowned when he realized that it was actually misspelled in the Willow's records. I didn't really mind, the Willow's records were wrong about a lot of things anyway; there were so many children it wasn't strange for names to be mixed up, let alone misspelled. After Bonman adopted me he had used my real last name in all official transactions, so it had been corrected. But now, if he changed it, it would completely disappear, and the only ones who would know about it would be Jun if he still remembered it, Bonman and myself.

I had no sentimental connection to Bonman's name. It was simply an effective method of protection against Kira. In truth, I was using him, but it was only fair, after he'd lied to me for so long. Near's eyes bored holes in my head, guessing at my motives.

Bonman forgot about the chess game when someone called him with the news that Kira was broadcasting again. The real one this time, apparently. Our dinner was interrupted, thankfully sparing me the torture of broccoli, and the four of us went to sit around the TV to watch. "Well, look at that," Bonman commented. "You were right. The other one was a fake."

I chewed on my lip. "We don't know yet. But L apparently thinks so too."

He turned towards me, his expression quizzical, but I didn't offer any further explanation. It was Near, sitting on the floor with the Lego blocks, who elaborated. "Yes. This broadcast isn't from the real Kira. It's from L."

"After all the trouble the police went through to stop it the last time, it doesn't make sense that they would allow it this time, especially if it came from the real Kira," I explained.

"And this presumably real Kira has conveniently forgotten to mention anything regarding L. If he was truly Kira, he would ask the second Kira to go through with his initial plan of killing him," Near continued monotonously.

"This Kira hasn't offered any proof that he is Kira either," I added. "If he was Kira he would have killed a couple of people to prove it, like the second one did."

Near finished my deduction without missing a beat or pausing in his construction. "This broadcast is from L, passing himself off as Kira so the second Kira will obey what he says."

"A risky move," I concluded, staring at the screen, and then smiled, "but charged with initiative. I wonder what the real Kira is thinking."

There was a pause. "Wow," Sandra commented in the stunned silence, "Near, you're just as smart as Jaylin."

I met Near's eyes over his Lego structure.

Bonman smiled.

* * *

_A.N. My chapters are getting longer, aren't they? Tell me what you thought about that last scene. I wasn't too sure about adding it in._


	23. April 28th

_A.N. I have just entered another phase of depression and unproductivity after watching episode 25 of the anime again. Fortunately, I had this written before watching the episode, so you still get the chapter on time. Unfortunately, I may need a couple of days to recover, so next chapter might be a couple of days late (read: not till next week.) Sorry, everyone. Blame Light Yagami._

* * *

**Chapter 23: April 28th**

_I don't shake hands with losers._

* * *

It was one of those days when the weather couldn't quite decide if it wanted to rain or not. The sky was overcast with thick, grey clouds, and the wind was heavy and slow, lazily swaying the branches of the trees as if it couldn't quite be bothered. I turned away from the window, uninterested. Sandra was in Maths class with her tutor, but I didn't have any classes today. For some unexplainable reason, Bonman had given me a holiday.

I'd made use of it, working on the investigation with Mr Misora for the entire morning. He'd shown me pictures of Naomi, real pictures, and even let me bring them home to examine them. She was a young woman, with long black hair and big eyes, long lashes, smooth skin. I supposed she was pretty, but not like those women who appeared on TV all dolled up. No, she was pretty in an exotic way, the mix of Oriental and Western creating gentle but sharp features.

I flipped through the albums distractedly. There were also pictures of when she was younger, barely my age; in one she was lying on her bed, in a similar posture as I was now, except she didn't hold a photo album in her hands but a pink diary. Her neck was twisted to look up at the camera, her features set in the beginning of a frown, annoyance at the photographer for spying on her while she wrote.

What did you find out, Naomi? Where is your _diary_?

I sighed and got up. It had been four days, and still no breakthrough. Mr Misora even rented the same hotel room she'd been staying in to see if we could find a clue there that the police had missed, but there was nothing, not a single note or a mark, let alone a whole diary.

Well, that wasn't exactly accurate. Upon leaving the hotel, the receptionist had told us something so puzzling I had trouble believing it was true.

"I did see her on the 1st. I think I was the last person t'see her, that's what the police said." She looked down at her nails, painted pink and yellow, then back up at Mr. Misora. "Sorry fer your loss, by the way. She looked like a decent lady."

Mr Misora cleared his throat, apparently deciding not to point out that it wasn't certain she was dead yet. "Did she tell you anything? Did she speak to you at all?"

The receptionist grimaced. "Well, she did. She was carrying these books, y'see."

"Books?"

"Books, notebooks, I didn't really get a look at them. There was a black one and a blue one." She waved a hand in the air, dismissing the question, but Mr Misora continued persistently.

"Did she tell you anything about those notebooks? Like what was written on them?"

"No, she didn't tell me nothin'. She just asked if I knew a place where she could burn them. Our hotel rooms have no chimney, y'see." The receptionist looked down at her nails again, bored. "I told her she could throw them in a garbage can outside and drop a match in it, no one would really care." Then she looked up, her face softening. "She didn't come back to the hotel after that. I'm truly sorry, mister."

I frowned. Why would Naomi Misora want to burn notebooks, why just before disappearing? There was something odd about her behavior, something that didn't quite fit. "Did she seem strange to you somehow?"

The receptionist blinked, then leaned over the counter and looked down so she could get a good look at me. "And who're you, little twerp?"

"That's irrelevant. Answer the question."

She seemed to find my speech amusing. "You like hard words, don't you?" She was still staring at me fixedly, and I averted my eyes, waiting for her to continue. "Well, she looked kinda depressed, kinda blank, like she wasn't really with me, you know? Like she was someplace else already." She shook her head. "And she kept muttering things. I think it had to do with the notebooks, she mumbled, destroy evidence, destroy evidence, almost like a robot, or like a kind of creepy puppet, you know? Like she didn't have a mind of her own." She looked up at Mr Misora and cringed. "Sorry, mister."

When we were done I told Mr Misora I needed to think, and he drove me back to my house. But after an hour of staring blankly at her pictures I still couldn't make sense of it. In the police report that part about the notebooks had been omitted from the receptionist's testimony, and I was so angry they'd overlooked such important information that I had actually considered calling Inspector Gwenn to inform her of the incompetency of her coworkers. No wonder L didn't trust them. Of course I hadn't, in the end.

Why would Naomi want to destroy her notebooks? What had she written on them?

And, since I couldn't come up with an answer, I called L about it. It was safer. That way, if by some chance the same thing that happened to Naomi happened to me, L would still know about the progress of the investigation.

(Naomi's thought patterns _had_ to be the same as mine. They simply _had_ to. It was strange, but when I placed her in front of my mirror, it wasn't the adult Naomi who looked back at me, but her younger self from the photograph; with my same height, my same size, the same scrapes on her knees. It was like looking at another version of myself. Our thought patterns _had_ to be the same, I knew it. _That way, if the same thing that happened to Raye happens to me, what I've found out will still be preserved.)_

Why did you burn your notebooks, Naomi?

"Wouldn't it be interesting," L mused, "if those notebooks contained that information Kira didn't want known?"

I frowned. "Then why would she burn them? It doesn't make-"

"Basic logic, Bishop," L cut me off in a bored tone. "If Naomi would never destroy her evidence, and yet she did, what conclusion does that bring us to?"

I was suddenly brought back to that day with Bonman in the waiting room of Haru's clinic. It was the same reasoning I'd used when Kira killed that embezzler and that purse-snatcher. "She was forced to," I breathed. The Director flashed in front of my eyes. "By Kira," I added, carried forwards by the inertia of this new development. "He's the one that most benefits from the evidence being destroyed."

"Correct. That is my theory. After the death of her fiancé, Naomi took justice upon her own hands and started investigating Kira. Kira found out and killed her, forcing her to destroy all evidence against him in the process."

I chewed on my hair. "I see."

Once again, L didn't say anything.

"I'll find your proof," I declared. "I'll find her corpse. Or, at the very least, I'll find out what she knew."

There was a long silence from his end; I wondered what he was thinking about. "That would be helpful," he finally replied, and, just like with every sentence he spoke, I wasn't sure if he actually meant it or it was simply a convenient lie.

* * *

If Naomi had really gone outside and burned them, someone must have seen her, I reasoned. A person shoving books into a rubbish container and then lighting it up couldn't have gone unnoticed. I phoned Mr Misora, who'd stayed around the area questioning people, but nobody had seen his daughter burn anything. A neighbor claimed he saw her leaving the hotel with the notebooks under her arm, but he didn't remember if it was on January 1st or on another day. Four months had passed after all, and unfortunately he didn't possess Mr Misora's memory.

I was in the living room playing chess with myself. Outside, the clouds were finally letting the first big fat drops of water down, making heavy splashing noises against the glass. My attention was so totally focused on the case that I didn't notice Bonman and Near standing at the entrance of the living-room, watching me play quietly, until Bonman cleared his throat, making me jump.

"Jaylin," he said, "Near is leaving tonight."

"Okay," I replied simply, my eyes sliding back to the board.

"You haven't played Chess with him yet, have you?" he continued after a pause.

My hand stopped in mid-air, just as I was reaching for a black pawn. "No."

"Why don't you play now? It would be more fun than playing by yourself, don't you think?" I didn't answer, lips pursed.

I suppose that, when two similar beings coexist in the same space for any extended amount of time, it is inevitable that they eventually collide. Particularly if everyone around them pushes them towards each other. Bonman had been trying to set us up for days now, but with luck and a little tactics I had managed to avoid a direct confrontation with Near, always slipping out with some excuse or another. I quickly searched for a way I could get out of the situation now, but found none that didn't involve collapsing on the floor dramatically, and sadly, I didn't have enough confidence in my acting skills to pull that off. "What do you think, Near? Do you want to play against Jaylin?"

"I don't particularly mind," he replied blankly. And the way he said it, it seemed exactly that. He didn't care if we played or not. He didn't care about anything, really.

I heard his feet shuffling to where I was and take a seat opposite me, but still I didn't look up. Only when his pale hand reached forwards and started putting back the pieces, interrupting my game, did I allow myself a small glare towards him. He returned my irritated look with an expressionless one and continued arranging the pieces.

Bonman flipped a coin for white or black. Near got white, to match with his hair and his clothes. Without any formality such as stating the timer or anything else, he advanced the King's pawn, and I immediately replied with the Sicilian defense.

It was only a children's game, but I could tell by the way Bonman watched us intently, by the hitching of his breath at every move, that it would decide everything. Chess was my forte after all; if Near could beat me at what I was best at, the contest would be over. I took him in fully then, eyes unreadable as he examined the board, finger hooked on a strand of hair so blonde it was white, while he considered his next ten or twelve moves. L's successor. If, no, _when_ the real L died - _death is inevitable, and mine has a high chance of happening soon_ - Near would take his place, spreading his own web around the world, infiltrating criminal organizations, giving orders to intelligence agencies, pursuing international killers. This twelve-year-old in front of me was the heir to the best detective of the century.

Was he really worthy? My lips curled up in a smirk. I would find out soon enough.

It was a beautiful game, and I was surprised to find I actually enjoyed it more than I had enjoyed a game in a long time. He set up traps which I saw through easily and sometimes fell into willingly with a counter already prepared, and he avoided my own traps, sometimes turning them against me. We faked and feinted and struck and retreated, our pieces reaping and falling between us. I was vaguely aware of Bonman's hands twisting excitedly when I gained a slight edge.

Near won, in the end. "Checkmate," he declared, his voice not betraying a single one of his thoughts, as usual. I, too, kept my expression carefully blank.

"He beat you, Jaylin," Bonman echoed, not quite believing it. I might have imagined it, but it seemed slightly disappointed. Had Bonman actually been rooting for me?

I leaned back on my chair. How _sweet_. "He did."

Bonman shook his head slightly. "I need to write some e-mails." Well, he really must be unsettled if he didn't even bother lying about it. He drifted away, leaving Near and I alone in the room, the chessboard between us.

After a moment I held up my arm over it, offering him my hand for him to shake. "You're quite good," I complimented.

Near looked at it for a moment, but didn't make a move to take it. "I don't shake hands with losers."

I let my hand drop. "Oh." Harsh.

"Particularly ones who lose on purpose," he added with mild distaste.

There were a couple of beats of silence in the huge living-room, silence so complete I could hear the old English clock ticking on the opposite wall from us. Tick. Tock. It stretched and stretched, reaching to every corner, reaching under the sofas and behind the chimney. Tick, tock, and the muffled sound of the rain. It took me a while to steel myself to break it, and when I did my voice resonated in a strange way, as if muted by the silence. "On purpose? Why would you say that?"

Near started arranging the pieces again, not even looking at me. "You played in such a way that you would seem serious about winning to any spectator," he replied curtly, "and, at the beginning, I thought so too; but you seriously weren't expecting to fool me during the whole game, were you? Especially with the way you used your Bishops." He explained all this like he was reciting a list, his voice more monotonous than the rain. "Before you even started, you aimed to play a good game, and then lose."

"That's stupid," I snorted. "Why would I do that?"

"I don't know. Perhaps for the same reason you failed the pattern test. By losing to me you are automatically branding yourself as inferior in the ranking - thus your chances of becoming L's successor become significantly slimmer. What I don't understand is why you don't want to compete." He looked away, towards the window, a flicker of a frown forming on his face. "It _is_ stupid. Why did you throw the game? Winning is always what's most important."

"Not if losing brings you more benefits," I countered.

"What benefit is not being in the ranking?" Beneath the blank tone, I detected a hint of irritation. Irritation? Ha! Although he didn't show it, Near was angry he'd only won because I hadn't played seriously! So he did have emotions... Or a competitive streak at least.

I didn't answer his question. I didn't tell him that, by not being in the ranking, I was able to talk to L, I could work as his agent, participate in his game. Near couldn't do any of those things, he had to stay safe _away_ from the game. He couldn't play until the current King fell, and I wasn't planning on letting that happen, not while I was on the board.

So I just shrugged and jumped off the chair, heading upstairs, leaving him by the chessboard. At least I'd made sure of one thing.

As far as I was concerned, Near was indeed worthy.


	24. June 1st

_A.N. I never thought lack of reviews would be an effective motivator... But there it is._

_Lol, jk. I know you guys enjoy it whether you review or not. Or at least I hope you do. Thanks to Syra and hateme101 for last chapter ^^ _

_This one's a bit filler-y, but I like it :)_

* * *

**Chapter 24: June 1st**

_I know the risks, and I'm willing to take them._

* * *

Sandra stood in the middle of my room, hands on her hips. For reasons I had yet to uncover, my room had become our designated playing area, though hers was bigger and had more toys. I'd been forced to hide all my research of Naomi Misora behind the first row of books of my shelves. "No, Jay, you're meant to be a puppy, not a cat," she corrected sternly.

I stopped licking the back of my hand, letting it drop on my lap. "I don't know how."

"Puppies are meant to sniff around and look up with really big and teary puppy-eyes," she explained, and then proceeded to do a surprisingly accurate demonstration, getting down on all fours and sniffing around the room. The sight was quite comical, as she was wearing a frilly pink dress and ponytails.

Recently Sandra had become obsessed with animals, and all of our games involved jumping through hoops or running after tennis balls. Even Olm was getting tired of it, I could tell. He sat on a chair by the window, idly flipping through a comic book. "Come on, try to do the puppy-eyes," Sandra urged, jumping on my bed and crawling to where I crouched.

I tried, then looked down quickly.

"There! It wasn't so bad, do it again!"

Olm snorted. "It was horrible. You looked like a dead rat."

"You look like a strangled troll," I bit back, "and that's when you're not even acting."

Olm and I continued verbally assaulting each other, and Sandra sighed hopelessly, moving on to coach Haru on how to act like a proper squirrel. The insults and jibes had been repeated so many times most of them had lost their meaning, but the exercise was still good for relieving stress - well, not exactly stress, but - pressure. All the pressure that had accumulated at the back of my head from the Naomi case and from hiding my connection with L from everyone around me.

Practically every third word out of my mouth was a lie now, though my acting skills were quite mediocre, and this meant they didn't always believe me. Sandra knew I lied, but pretended to be oblivious, and Olm, while he still accused me of hiding things from them, was reasonably easy to distract. Still, my double or triple life had created a tension between the three of us that was invisible on the surface, but was slowly pulling me apart from the group. Haru was the only one who had a vague idea of what was going on, having been present when I eavesdropped on the conversation between Bonman and Roger; and he was the only one with whom things hadn't changed all that much. We still played computer games together, and I didn't have to worry so much about keeping up the pretense when I was alone with him.

But even if now my games with the Chess Detectives were little more than a cover, I held no resentment towards anyone, and certainly not towards L. The puzzle he'd given me was well worth it.

I glanced at the clock and the next insult died on my lips. "I have to go," I announced, ignoring Olm completely. "My Art tutor's taking me to a gallery."

Sandra shot me a disappointed look, before sighing resignedly. "Alright."

* * *

Mr Misora drove silently through the rain, a warm and heavy rain of June. The only visible part of him from the backseat was the back of his head, but it was still easy to tell he was tense, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. When I'd met him at his house he'd looked like nothing more than a grey, tired old man, but as the days went by he seemed to become stronger and more determined. His eyes were no longer glazed over and numb but darker and harder, the fire that I'd seen in them at first growing and growing into a self-consuming inferno. He walked straighter now, his shoulders set, not hunched over like that first day in his house, and there was contained rage in his movements.

He was hell-bent on catching his daughter's murderer, or kidnapper, though most likely murderer. It didn't matter to him that said murderer could be Kira. He wanted revenge, and would stop at nothing to get it.

I didn't think being so emotionally invested in a case was even slightly beneficial. But I needed an adult who wasn't Hans to drive me around and question people for me, and Mr Misora was good enough for that. He was better than good actually; he caught onto inconsistencies quickly and drew valuable answers from our witnesses, and only rarely I needed to step in.

Not that we had many witnesses. We were reduced to following anything we could get at this point; any rumor of where Naomi had been or what she'd done during her stay in Japan, regardless of how irrelevant it may seem. We'd visited convenience stores, friends' places, restaurants, museums, everywhere we knew that she'd gone. We'd questioned everyone she could have talked to.

And, for weeks, we had found nothing.

But yesterday - yesterday we had finally stumbled upon a clue. A woman had recognized Naomi's picture by chance, while we showed it to a restaurant owner in the hotel's neighborhood. It turned out the woman was a shopkeeper. Naomi had come into her shop to ask her for directions to the bus station. "I remember her because of the leather jacket," she sighed. "It was a very nice jacket. But I couldn't tell you when exactly this was."

It wasn't much, but it was enough. The bus station. Not a bus stop, but the bus station, where all lines started and ended. Why would Naomi want to go there? It was quite far from the hotel, and she had a motorbike. She never caught the bus. We immediately accorded that this odd behavior deserved looking into, and Mr Misora said he'd pick me up the next day at eleven, and now here we were, racing the traffic and cutting as many corners as possible.

I bit my lip impatiently, fidgeting with my seat belt. Naomi had done something important at that station, and it could very well be the key to all of this. "Mr Misora," I said, my voice barely audible over the drumming rain on the car's roof and the roaring of the engines, "I think it would be best if you don't give out your real name from now on."

He shot me a quick look through the rear-view mirror, his eyes instantly becoming guarded when he realized what I was implying. "You think we could meet Kira?"

"It was a possibility from the beginning," I admitted. "It is almost certain that Naomi came in contact with Kira after Raye's death. By tracking her actions and speaking to everyone she spoke to, we may very well meet Kira too."

We finally arrived and he parked the car just outside the station, the strained engines dying with an unhealthy cough. Neither of us made a move to get out. I looked out the window, assessing the station while I waited for his next question. It was barely more than a concrete roof with the yellow buses parked neatly in a row under it, and a small building on one side, blurry behind the curtain of rain.

Mr. Misora took a deep breath. "Then shouldn't we tell someone about what we're doing? Just in case something happens to us." There it was again. Even her father had the same reasoning. Even _Jun_ had the same reasoning, and he wasn't the brightest bulb in the city; when he'd found out about the Director, he'd told Haru about it, a third party that would preserve the information. Naomi must have thought the same. I only needed to find _where_ she'd put all her evidence, or _who_ she'd told... Even if Kira had forced her to destroy all material proof, I believed she had found a way. "Bishop?"

I realized I still hadn't replied. "I've already taken care of that. I'm regularly relaying everything we find to a third party."

He relaxed, then tensed up again. "Is this third party..."

"Trustworthy," I cut off, still staring out the window. "Don't worry about it anymore."

He turned around on his seat to face me, his eyes serious, and I knew trouble was coming. "Bishop," he stated, "I understand that you only want to help find Naomi, and I appreciate it, but you're still a child." I scowled. "I know you solved the Willow Case with your friends," he added, anticipating my protests, "but this is different. This is Kira we're talking about. Does your dad know what you're doing?"

I looked down, frowning. "Bonman lets me do whatever I want," I answered quietly, avoiding the question, then I looked up again into his eyes. "I know the risks, Mr Misora, and I'm willing to take them. Don't worry about me. We should concentrate on finding Naomi."

I hated people speaking to me like I wasn't capable just because I was a child. It was so frustrating, to be constantly underestimated. And I certainly didn't expect it from Mr Misora, who'd worked with me for a month now. I knew he was curious about my involvement, having more than once asked me why I was so interested in his daughter, what had made me start investigating - my explanations were always vague or went off in a tangent. We had gotten to a point where he simply stopped asking as he understood I'd never tell him the truth. A strange sort of trust had formed between us since then; he'd learned to speak to me as he would any adult, respecting my aptitude and reasonings. I'd thought we were past the stage of him demanding my parents' approval.

He sighed resignedly. "Will you be going as Bishop, as always?"

"Yes. You can pick whatever you like."

He got out of the car and opened the door for me, and I jumped off, immediately putting up the hood of my coat to protect my face from the rain. He locked the car, then took my small hand in his and we ran for cover towards the buses and the concrete roof.

There was a guardhouse on one end, and we approached it without a spoken agreement. Inside was a dark-skinned man lazily clicking away on his computer. Mr Misora knocked on the window, startling him, and he quickly turned the screen off. "What do you want, old guy?" he demanded harshly, throwing the window open with a violent movement.

"My name is Metsuki," Mr. Misora answered kindly despite the man's unfriendly expression. "I was wondering if you had seen this woman. She came to this station before going missing on January 1st." He took out the picture, but the man didn't even glance at it.

"Don't know what you're talking about," he growled. "You don't look like a policeman. Piss off." He shut the window harshly and turned his back to us.

I stepped out from behind Mr Misora and knocked on the glass again, which earned us another violent opening and a scowl. "What part of piss off don't you... And who're you?"

"Please, Mister," I said, making my voice waver slightly, doing my best to sound small and scared. "It was my mum. We're trying to find her." And then I gave him the puppy-eyes look, hoping it'd work.

It did. Maybe my acting skills weren't so mediocre after all. Or maybe it was that, while being underestimated because of my age had many disadvantages, it also meant adults thought me too innocent to be capable of lying or fooling them. While it was insulting, it also had its perks. I could see the man's aggressiveness physically draining away from his face, the angry creases smoothing out. "Lemme see that picture," he demanded gruffly, tearing the paper out of Mr. Misora's hands. His eyes scanned the page for a moment before returning it with a frown. "Nope, haven't seen her. Pretty mom you have, though."

"She went missing six months ago," Mr Misora repeated. "But someone told us she stopped by this station before that. Are you sure you haven't seen her?"

"Oh, _that_ chick. No, I haven't seen her, but Taniki did, he wouldn't shut up about it. You can find him... Uh... By bus 3 I think, yeah, should be cleaning his bus." And with that, he turned around back to his computer, dismissing us.

Taniki was as generic a man as they came. Thin, with dull brown hair and brown eyes, he was happily whistling as he cleaned his bus, and was only too eager to share his story. Yes, he'd seen the woman in the picture, in fact she'd questioned him much as we were doing now. Yes, it was about a man with blue eyes and black hair, how did we know? Yes, he'd also seen that man. When? Why, when Kiichiro Osoreda tried to hijack his bus in December, then started hallucinating, jumped into the highway and died.

The man with blue eyes and black hair had been one of the passengers in the bus at the time.

* * *

_Raye Penber was on the bus hi-jacked by Kiichiro Osoreda on December 20th, one week before all the FBI agents died, _I typed into the cellphone._ Naomi Misora was investigating the incident on the day before her disappearance._

I selected E. Coli, the only name on my list, and pressed send. The reply didn't take long to reach me. _What exactly was she asking for?_

I put the cell phone back in my pocket and turned around to Taniki, interrupting Mr. Misora's next question. "What did she ask you about? Her exact words," I inquired innocently.

Taniki smiled down at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I don't remember her exact words, I'm not superhuman. But she wanted to know about other passengers on the bus, though I couldn't remember them either," he answered good-naturedly. "I only remember him because he's the one who told us to get down."

I turned around once more, pretending to be distracted, and texted L again. This time, he didn't reply, as if he had to think and mow over this new information.

As Mr Misora continued with the interrogation I listened quietly, noting everything in my mind to report to L later. But there were too many missing pieces. Even when we knew what the puzzle was supposed to look like, we couldn't put them together, not with so many blank spaces in the middle.

* * *

_A.N: It was actually meant to be longer but I'll break it off here. Sucks for you guys, but it also means you'll get the next chapter sooner than planned. Big things are happening soon, hehe._


	25. June 1st, evening

**Chapter 25: June 1st, evening**

_Assumption is a detective's worst and most common mistake. You assumed you knew the rules you were playing to, Bishop, and that's dangerous._

* * *

If I didn't know any better, I would say Pattern Twenty didn't exist.

I spent hours trying to find it, stumbling around in between all the different dots, blindly reaching for something that simply wasn't there. And when, by some chance, I thought a corner of my mind had grazed _something_, I could never latch onto it, the ghost pattern crumbling, leaving nothing in its place but scattered ghost-bricks that didn't fit with each other. When I needed a break from the Naomi case I lost myself in Pattern Twenty for hours, absently twisting my elastic in my fingers, until Bonman or Sandra took me out of my trance, mostly with a concerned remark about how long I'd been sitting there.

I almost didn't treat it as something to be solved anymore, but as a sort of exercise in which I had to split my mind in layers and bent mirrors and dimensions. But it could be solved. L knew the answer, I was sure of it. It could be solved, and that made me even more determined - asking him for it had never crossed my mind. I also found that, immediately after the mental acrobatics, the facts of the case seemed clearer to me, and I could think more distinctly about each of them.

So after three or so hours of lying face-up on my bed in the dark, considering pattern Twenty, I reluctantly pushed it away, bringing Naomi back to the forefront. Why had she been so interested in the hi-jacking incident? The way Kiichiro had died was indeed strange, but what did it have to do with Raye and Kira? Why ask about the other passengers of the bus? I was waiting impatiently for L to call, possibly to give me more information on the FBI agents. I knew all there was to know about Naomi, but no more than the general public about the agents and their assignment. Why was Raye Penber going to Spaceland that day? What did he hope to find there? L had to call. I needed instructions and information.

As if on cue, the phone vibrated in my hands and I placed it on my ear. His first words weren't a greeting, or instructions, on information, though. No, they were much more frightening: "I no longer require your assistance in this case, Bishop." It took me a couple of seconds to register the words, and then my stomach dropped into a pit.

I knew that asking _why_ would annoy him. L was used to having his orders obeyed without question. Still, I couldn't help myself. "Why?" I choked out. Had I done something wrong? Had he decided I wasn't good enough? Was I _incompetent_? The thought that I had disappointed L was the single most frightening thing I'd ever felt in my life. My fingers started trembling, and I gripped the phone tighter.

"Because it is no longer necessary," he replied blandly, completely oblivious to my internal turmoil.

Something about his wording made me pause and still my hand. No longer necessary... I flipped back in my memory to all of L's cases in the past - never had he ever dropped a case. If he didn't need me anymore, then maybe... "You've caught him?" I asked in disbelief, my heart hammering against my ribs. Even in my state of shock I was careful not to mention the name Kira, and didn't raise my voice above a whisper. The chance that someone was eavesdropping on the other side of my door, however slim, still existed. I also took the precaution of flipping the cover over my head to further muffle the noise.

He chewed thoughtfully. "No. He handed himself in."

A tidal wave of relief washed over me. He didn't need me, not because I was incompetent, but because he'd already caught the culprit. I hadn't disappointed him. I was safe. My breathing evened out.

Still, the revelation was baffling. "He forfeited? That's not like him at all." Kira was childish, hated to lose, believed himself to be God. There was no way someone like that would forfeit the game.

"Yes. I think so too. I think this is part of a much grander, more elaborate strategy." There was a sound of him crushing something small, like some sort of candy, between his fingers. "Make no mistake, Bishop. The game is far from over." He remained silent for a minute, pondering his next words. "The information you gave me this morning was more helpful than you probably think. Thank you for your effort. But furthering the investigation on Naomi Misora will be a waste of time and resources, considering I'm now ninety-nine percent certain that my suspect is Kira."

So he'd really caught him! I felt like jumping up from the bed and doing a happy dance, but that wouldn't be a very good idea, considering Bonman was still downstairs in the living-room. In the small dark space under the covers, I forced myself to take a couple of deep breaths. The game was far from over, L had said - I needed to pull myself together.

I thought about Mr Misora, and my excitement died down a little. Even if L had caught Kira, we still didn't know what had happened to Naomi, and I'd promised the old man I'd work with him until we did. Even if Kira admitted to having killed her, if we didn't find physical proof of it Mr Misora's absurd hope wouldn't completely die. He wouldn't accept that I was dropping the investigation. He'd demand answers I couldn't give him, and the relationship we'd built would fall like a tower made of sand.

I realized I had grown somewhat attached to Mr Misora. He'd always been completely honest to me, despite knowing that I wasn't honest with him. I owed it to him to ask, at least. "We still haven't found Naomi's corpse," I said slowly. L didn't reply. "Please, let me continue. I need to know the truth. If you've already caught him, there is no risk I'll meet him, so there should be no harm in me continuing the investigation."

He thought about it for a moment. "Why are you so interested in Naomi Misora?"

"Why are you so uninterested?" I countered quietly. "She worked under you."

Another breath of silence. "Ah. I see. You feel identified." He sounded like he was chewing something again, and swallowing. "Very well, as you've pointed out there should be no risk, and I'm also curious as to how she died. You may continue." I smiled, not believing my luck. "On your own time," he added as an afterthought.

"My own time?"

"Yes."

It took me a second to digest his words. "I don't understand."

"The Kira case isn't my only worry at the moment. Certainly, my most important worry, but not the only one." He paused. "There are other cases in which an agent like you would prove useful."

I couldn't believe my ears. Another case? "I'll be glad to help," I grinned shakily.

"Then I will contact you again soon."

He hung up, and I simply stared at the phone. The conversation had happened so fast I had trouble assimilating everything. Firstly, L had caught Kira. He really was the best in the world. He hadn't specified, so he probably had the both of them, Alpha and Beta. The deaths would stop soon. Secondly, I was allowed to keep investigating Naomi's disappearance. Mr Misora would still be able to find out the truth about his daughter. And thirdly, I would work with L again.

My grin slowly stretched all across my face. I was happier than on Christmas day when Bonman brought that huge pile of sweets. I was happier than on my birthday when he made the chocolate cake and Near arrived to my house. This was the best thing that could have ever happened to me in my whole life, and I suddenly felt the need to tell someone about it, or share it in some way. I stood up from the bed, opened my door and noisily made my way downstairs, crossing the huge doors of the living-room and sitting myself in front of Bonman without a word.

He glanced up from his book, surprised. "Jaylin? What are you doing up so late?"

I grinned hugely, got up again and went to fetch the old chess set by the Victorian shelf. It was Bonman's most precious, the pieces carved in ivory and ebony from over three centuries ago, infused with a movement and beauty that made them seem alive. Carefully, carefully I carried it in my arms and placed it on the table between us, then sat down again, my grin so wide it almost hurt my cheeks, and advanced a pawn.

Bonman looked down, frowning. He probably didn't think eleven p.m. was the best time to start a game of chess, but in the end indulged me with a sigh. In that moment I didn't care that he'd been lying to me and manipulating me for practically as long as I'd known him. I didn't care he most likely had many more plans in store for me, most of which I probably wouldn't agree with. If it weren't for him I would never gotten where I was now. He'd given me a home and an elite education, and above all the opportunity to work with the best detective in the world, and that was all that mattered.

If he was surprised by my sudden change in behavior - after all, I had been avoiding him lately - he didn't show it. He didn't hold back either, making use of all the tricks he'd ever taught me and many more he had saved for himself, strategies and moves I had never thought of on my own. He played brilliantly, better than he'd ever played before.

Still, I won.

* * *

The following afternoon found me in front of a mansion in the neighborhood, a basket dangling from my arms.

"I'm in front of the house. Do I ring?"

"Yes, go ahead."

I bounced up to the gates of the mansion, putting the phone back in my pocket. The property was very big; not as big as Bonman's, but distinctly more modern and high-tech. I could see a sleek black camera to my left following my movements as I pressed the intercom button.

"Sakano residence, hello?"

"Hello," I gave the intercom a shy smile. "I'm Jaylin, Bonman's daughter. He made biscuits and we had many to spare, so I thought I'd drop by to share."

A silence from the intercom. "One moment, please."

It was amazing how many doors Bonman's name opened - literally. I had no doubt L was counting on it. After a short while, the big, iron-spiked gates started automatically parting for me. "Please come in, we'll be delighted to have you," the intercom buzzed. I calmly strolled up the driveway, admiring the oddly-shaped statues of modern art on either side. There was one that didn't quite fit with the rest, a red telephone cabin like the ones in London posters, bent sideways as if a giant had torn it from the ground and tried to break it over his knee. I tilted my head a little, puzzled.

I passed another two security fences before getting to the actual mansion, and immediately realized that the Sakanos did indeed have strange tastes. The whole mansion was skewed, with concave and convex curves everywhere there should be a straight line. A butler in a black uniform opened the door for me. Even he seemed strange, his hair combed in irregular waves, fixed with gel. He showed me through twisted corridors to a large, round living-room, where Ms. Sakano was waiting. The living-room was like the rest of the house; polymorphous tables and furniture with the corners all in the wrong places. It was like stepping into a weird dream.

Ms Sakano, in contrast, looked completely normal, so I guessed the decoration must have been her husband's choice. "Hello, dear Jaylin," she greeted with a pleasant smile, making a gesture for me to approach. "It is very kind of you to bring biscuits."

I smiled back, trying to seem as cheerful as possible, and a little shy. "I just thought you might like them. Where should I leave them?"

"Oh, you're such a dear. There, on that table. We have an important dinner tonight, they'll be just the thing." She kept talking as I dutifully left my basket where she'd indicated. The perfectly ordinary basket looked completely out of place among the furniture, but she didn't seem to mind. "Why don't you stay to chat for a bit? It's been a while since I last saw you."

I obediently went back to sit next to her, a radiant smile still plastered on my face. She asked me about my tutors, about Sandra, and was a bit surprised when I told her we were also "friends" with Olm, proceeding to question me about the Whitebirds with a greedy expression on her face. Even among the top sphere, they were crème de la crème. Finally I left, skipping back down the driveway and away from the surrealist headache. My grin only fell off when I was out of view from the cameras.

I fished the phone out of my pocket and placed it on my ear again. "Mission complete," I deadpanned, more than slightly insulted by how easy it had been. The Sakanos were well known for their impenetrable security, and yet an eight-year-old had gotten past it with no effort and planted a microphone in the middle of the living-room in plain sight without arousing the slightest suspicion; a microphone they would they themselves carry to the dinner table when the main course was over and the discussions about highly illegal dealings began.

"That was easier than I expected," L mused. I hadn't hung up, so he'd been able to hear everything.

"How can they be so stupid?" I complained, unable to hide my disappointment. "What do they keep those cameras and alarms for if they just let any random biscuit-girl get past them?" I grimaced. "_We have an important dinner tonight, they'll be just the thing_? I didn't even have to try."

I could practically feel L's amused smile on the other end. "Were you expecting more of a challenge?"

"Yes!" I bit my lip, barely stopping myself from launching into another rant about the arrogance of adults.

"I admit I had too. It seems there are more advantages to working with a child than I'd thought."

* * *

Thus passed the days.

I kept going on little missions for L, like the one at the Sakano house. Sometimes he asked me to revise data he'd already gone through and tell him my conclusions, and I didn't know if it was because he valued my input or was testing me again. Sometimes he asked me to eavesdrop on people or trick them into revealing a specific piece of information. I was surprisingly good at it. Being a child, and Bonman's daughter, granted me some sort of all-proof immunity. Adults hardly ever suspected me of any malicious intent, and the rare times I was caught red-handed I always managed to pass it off as fooling around.

L didn't give me entire cases to handle on my own like Naomi's, but I was content with the missions. They let me get some much-needed practice on my real life acting skills, and failure wasn't all that serious. If someone caught me eavesdropping, for example, looking repentant and abashed normally was enough to convince them to let it go.

Occasionally, L played games with me.

"195 284."

"482 591 330."

"033 195 284 189."

"981 482 591 330 956."

"659-"

"You can't use 659, Bishop. It's a prime number. You lost."

"But you said 956!" I protested, "and besides, this was about short-term memory, not pattern-building."

"Whoever said that it wasn't pattern-building?"

I frowned.

"Assumption is a detective's worst and most common mistake. You assumed you knew the rules you were playing to, Bishop, and that's dangerous," he observed mildly.

I rolled my eyes. L liked to win above all else. This wasn't the first time he invented rules or twisted them so he could say he'd won, and give me a lecture while he was at it. It was frustrating for me, but also amusing to watch, the completely nonsensical things he'd come up with to get what he wanted.

I thought he must be feeling terribly bored, to be playing games with me. No criminal had died of a heart attack for three days in a row, which to me was the final proof that he had, in fact, caught Kira. Both the original and the second one. I wondered if the reason he was so bored was because he no longer had the most dangerous serial murderer of the century to chase. Yes; maybe that was why he spent so much time talking to me.

"Mmmm... I'll let you win if you figure out a cool riddle," he proposed.

"Alright."

A silence.

"What's the riddle?" I asked impatiently.

"No, I've changed my mind. You lose anyway."

I kept my face blank. There were times L was downright absurd. And despite this, there were also times when I detected something familiar in the way he spoke to me, almost as if he'd done it before, with someone else. He seemed to be genuinely interested in my reactions, and I knew the games were just more disguised tests; what he was testing me for I had no idea, as I'd made it abundantly clear I wouldn't become his successor.

It didn't really matter anyway. It was fun, and though I never won I liked the illusion of matching wits with the world's best detective.

* * *

_A.N.: So there you have it, early chapter as promised, with some interaction between L and Bishop. Hope you liked it. Don't know if it shows, but it was really fun to write._


	26. June Interlude

**Chapter 26: June. Interlude.**

_What does the letter D mean to you?_

* * *

E. Coli. E. Coil. Ideal Color. Eraldo Coil. All anagrams.

_Mmmm... I'll let you win if you figure out a cool riddle._

_A cool riddle._

A-C-O-O-L-R-I-D-D-L-E.

E-R-A-L-D-O-C-O-I-L.

Anagram. Eraldo Coil + extra D.

What did that extra D mean? In Greek: Delta, triangle. In Roman: 500, in numerals. In Morse code: dash dot dot. None of which I could directly relate to anything.

"Haru?" I asked, sitting up. "What does the letter D mean to you?"

He didn't even look up from my computer. "D: programming language designed from the practical usage of C++, with similar declaration, statement and expression syntax, though some other aspects differ. They haven't gotten to version 1.0 yet."

I returned to staring at the ceiling, chewing on my hair pensively. D. It could have a lot of different meanings. _A cool riddle, _and if I managed to figure it out, I won, L had said so himself. My lips pulled into a grin out of their own accord.


	27. June 15th

_A.N.: Hum. I was planning on a much longer holiday after the interlude, but seeing someone's drawings suddenly made me want to keep writing. That someone is Mirthful-Malady, and links to the incredibly awesome drawings are on my profile. I strongly suggest you check them out. Mirthful made the new cover too, isn't it cool?_

* * *

**Chapter 27: June 15th**

_I'm not sure yet, but it is possible she had intentions of going to the NPA headquarters sometime before she disappeared._

* * *

The humid rain gave way to a stifling heat, the kind you could taste on your tongue, smothering and unpleasant. Normally it would be the perfect weather to go swimming, but the swimming-pool was sadly out of use thanks to Haru's and mine little experiments with pulleys and potassium metal earlier in the year, and Bonman saw it as an appropriate punishment to delay the repairs until the end of summer. Needless to say, Sandra was majorly pissed off at us. She found a solution by coercing Olm into inviting her to his own pool almost every day, but didn't extend the invitation to us.

It wasn't too harsh a punishment. Haru had never been an outdoors person anyway, he preferred staying indoors where there was air conditioning and he could wear his blanket. And my mornings were far too busy to indulge in a holiday activity such as swimming. Not to mention I didn't know how to swim.

It was interesting, really, how unaffected I was by Sandra's obvious shunning. I'd idolized her my entire life, she was the first person to ever show me kindness and acceptance, even if she never truly understood me (after all this time, she still referred to my deductions as "guessing") and, up until recently, I'd taken her every word as my law. Sandra had been my mother, my sister and my best friend during the first seven years of my life, and yet I didn't feel half as helpless or jealous as I should have when she ditched me to spend more time with Olm.

If it had happened a year ago, before the Willow scandal, it would have destroyed me. Without Sandra's bubble of protection, I wouldn't have survived the orphanage and the constant bullying that went on there. But now, I had more people - Haru, Gwenn, Bonman, Mr. Misora...L. Sandra was still an important pillar, but no longer indispensable. The structure of my life might tremble if she suddenly disappeared for a little while, but it wouldn't crumble.

I bit my lip, fumbling with the controller buttons. The indispensable pillar was someone else now.

_D, 4th letter of the latin alphabet. Too obvious. D, 500, which doesn't really mean anything. A lower case d is also cl, and CL is 150. But if it was related to Roman numerals, it would make no sense for the D to be lower case. It's something else. D, 500, and L is 50..._

_Back to the beginning. "A cool riddle..."_

"Ziuuuuum... BAM! Hahaha, I won again!" Haru exclaimed, jumping up from the chair besides mine, his blanket sliding off his lap. As I didn't comment, he walked over to me and took the controller from my hands. "Jaylin," he proclaimed solemnly, pulling me out of my thoughts and making me look up at him, "after playing against you for more than four months I have come to an enlightening conclusion." He paused dramatically. "You're crap at video games."

"I'm good at the puzzle ones," I protested.

He smirked. "Do you want to play again?"

"No. You'd just win anyway."

Haru shook his head sadly, went back to his chair and started a new game, setting the mode to single-player this time. _D, 100 in Binary Code..._

We had been sitting silently for a while when I realized that something was wrong. Haru was never silent when he played, he made all sorts of explosion noises. I looked up curiously to find him leaning forwards intently on his chair, typing furiously on the keyboard, his face a mask of absolute concentration as windows kept popping up on the screen. "What's up?" I asked curiously.

"Someone just sent me an e-mail," he replied, his playful tone from earlier having completely vanished.

"So?" I leaned over his shoulder, but could make no sense of what he was doing. "Is that a problem?"

"No. The problem is that the source of the message is..." the pace of his typing picked up furiously, before he slumped back, staring at the computer incredulously, "Untraceable." He reached for his blanket and drew it over his head, frowning. "And I don't think the message was meant for me. I don't understand it."

My curiosity was piked. Anticipating my request he clicked on another window, which showed a blank e-mail except for a letter and a number on the top left corner. "e4. That's all they wrote," he explained. And then, "It's for you," he suddenly realized, understanding what it meant.

"Looks like it." I made my way to the table by the window, where a chess set was waiting, all the pieces already in their starting spots, and advanced a white pawn. "Algebraic notation. It's the start of a chess game. White advances the King's pawn to e4." I lifted my gaze back up to the screen thoughtfully.

Haru was typing again. "They sent it to the account I used as Detective Rook for the Willow Case," he informed. "They probably did it because you don't have e-mail and they don't have any other means of contacting you while remaining anonymous."

"And there is no way you can know who it's from?"

More typing. "No. I can reply to the message, but that's all..." He trailed off, puzzled.

It couldn't be L, I reasoned. While it was a lot like L to want to play chess, perhaps as another test of my abilities, he wouldn't have sent me an anonymous mail, that was what the phone was for. Regardless I would have to confirm it the next time I spoke to him. Who else, then? Who else would start a chess game with me in such a manner? "I h-hope he isn't dangerous," Haru suddenly commented, his paranoia coming back. "I hope h-he doesn't try to hack my account..."

"Don't worry, Haru. It's probably just someone who wants to see whether the Chess Detectives live up to their name." I chewed on my hair for a while and moved another pawn, black this time. "Reply with the Sicilian defense. c5."

There was more typing and clicking on his part, while I stared at the board, hand twisting my elastic in my pocket. Who was my mystery opponent? Was it someone I knew, or someone who'd just heard of me through the news? He must have liked chess a lot, he was probably quite good at it. But why remain anonymous? What was the meaning of this game? What would happen if I won?

There were knocks in my door, and it opened, revealing a perfectly serene Hans. "Miss Jaylin, a visitor has arrived."

I frowned. "Where's Bonman?" Hans wouldn't come to me to announce a visitor if Bonman was in the house.

"He left to supervise one of the factories a while ago." Hans paused. "It is not a visitor for you, Miss. She said she wanted to see Mister Haru." Haru jumped at his name, nearly falling off the chair, before turning to stare at me in puzzlement. A visitor for Haru? Though he did spend a lot of time here, he didn't live in the mansion, he was still staying at Inspector Gwenn's house. This visitor must be quite desperate to see him if she couldn't wait for him to go back home. Or perhaps there was a specific reason why she wanted to come to the mansion, and used Haru simply as an excuse.

The timing was simply too convenient. We recieve an anonymous e-mail, and then an anonymous visitor? There was something going on here.

Haru had risen from his chair, drawing his blanket tighter around his shoulders. "Where is she?"

"Downstairs, in the living-room."

I followed them quietly. The fact that Haru was even willing to face this unknown visitor was proof of how much he had changed. At the orphanage, he would hide immediately upon sighting an unfamiliar figure, even more so if said figure was specifically looking for him. But as I walked behind him I saw his shoulders set squarely, and a sureness in his step which certainly hadn't been there before. I was surprised to find that, when he straightened, he was much taller than me. I'd calculated his age to be around Sandra's, but could it be possible he was even older?

Our visitor turned out to be someone I vaguely recognized.

It was a girl with brown eyes and gentle features who must have been around seventeen or eighteen. She had been one of the numerous part-time caretakers at the orphanage, those who arrived, stayed for a month or so, and then left again, a voluntary worker or something of the sort. I'd never spoken to her before, but at the sight of her Haru looked down and started rubbing his forearms. "Hello, Haru," she greeted softly, standing up from the couch and taking a step towards him. "I'm Anna. Do you remember me?"

I stood a little bit to the side, frowning.

"I've been looking for you for a long time. I just wanted to see how you were doing, and to apologize for what happened back then." She glanced at Hans, who still hadn't left the room, and mouthed a hesitant_ thank you_ before turning her attention back to Haru. "I've seen you in the news. You were really brave." She started walking around the low coffee table to stand in front of him.

Haru remained silent. He didn't make a move towards her, but he didn't step away either. My gaze traveled down to his hands, which still rubbed his forearms distractedly. "Ah," I realized, breaking the tense silence. "You were the first."

Anna turned towards me, eyes slightly wide as if she hadn't realized I was there. "Pardon?"

"You were the first," I repeated. "The first to investigate the Director, the first to find enough proof to be taken seriously. The reason he," I nodded towards Haru, "got hurt." First Anna, who had desisted when the Director tortured Haru, then Jun, who had desisted when the Director threatened to hurt him again, then the Chess Detectives, who had finally managed to gather evidence without the Director noticing.

Her face paled slightly, confirming my hypothesis. "Well, I never meant for that to happen," she replied quickly. "I was just trying to help-"

"Do you play chess?" I cut her off.

I could see my question had caught her completely off-guard, which immediately ruled her out as my mystery opponent. Of course, she could be acting, but in that case she was an extremely good actress. I'd become better at telling when people lied as I learned how to act myself, and her reaction seemed completely genuine. "I know how to move the pieces," she replied carefully, "but I don't know how to play. You're Bishop, aren't you?"

"The trials would have moved much faster if you'd stepped forwards to testify," I accused, changing the subject again and ignoring her question. "Having conducted an investigation yourself, you could have been a witness and contributed more proof against the Director. Why didn't you?"

Her mouth opened, and closed, and opened again, but no sound came out.

"You could also have tracked down Haru much faster than you did," I pressed forwards. "For a while, the Chess Detectives was all the news ever talked about, and-"

"Miss Jaylin," I was surprised that the interruption had come from Hans. Though his tone was still as polite as ever, there was also a warning underneath it. "I think it would be considerate to leave the guests to their own privacy."

I was so perplexed I immediately did as he asked and followed him out of the room. This was the very first time I heard Hans interrupt anything anyone was saying. It was the first time I heard him speak in front of a guest, even. Normally he melded into the background, or simply disappeared from the room, quiet and unnoticed. He rarely spoke, and he definitely never interrupted.

As soon as the doors closed behind us he turned to me and regarded me with a thoughtful gaze. "In this house all our guests are treated nicely," he observed off-handedly.

I just gaped. Was I getting a lecture? From _Hans_?

"That particular guest came to apologize to Mr Haru," he continued, "and it is something between the two of them only. It isn't polite to jump in and start making accusations." His voice was still perfectly mild.

This situation was very strange and uncomfortable. "Alright," I complied, if only to get out of it quicker.

Hans gave me a rare smile. "Good," he said in English, before walking down the corridor, just leaving me there.

I shook my head, trying to get rid of the unsettling feeling. Then I looked back at the living-room door. I had many questions for Anna, but they were made of pure curiosity. It was quite apparent that she had nothing to do with the mystery message at all, and that she did come here just to see Haru, so technically, Hans was right: it wasn't my business. I shook my head and headed back up to my room, my curiosity unsatiated.

I would have to re-examine all my previous assumptions about Hans.

* * *

That afternoon, Kira killed again.

Without previous warning, two weeks' worth of criminals died all at once. I sat in front of the TV, chewing on my hair (which had gotten longer than I was comfortable with - I'd have to cut it soon), hand clutching the remote, as, newsflash after newsflash, more heart attack epidemics were reported. This was the grandest scale of killings yet, as if Kira wanted to make a point that he was coming back, and he was coming back with a vengeance.

I looked down at the satphone in my lap worriedly. Nothing could have happened to L, could it?

Immediately after that thought it started ringing, and I hurriedly put it to my ear. "Any news on the Naomi investigation?" L's voice was perfectly calm, without a hint of urgency despite the situation.

"Yes," I reported, "I'm not sure yet, but it is possible she had intentions of going to the NPA headquarters sometime before she disappeared." After more extensive questioning, Mr. Misora and I had pieced together a map of Naomi's movements in the days that led up to her death, and that seemed to be what it all pointed to.

"She wanted to see me," L mused, speaking to himself.

"I'm not sure that's where she was going yet," I reminded him. "My witnesses aren't very reliable."

"No, it is probably right. It confirms our theory of Naomi investigating Kira on her own. She discovered something, and was on her way to tell me about it, but Kira got to her first." My lips pursed in disapproval. What happened to 'assumption is a detective's worst and most common mistake?' All he was doing was guessing here. Of course I didn't voice my thoughts out loud, since this was L I was speaking with. Maybe he had some sort of proof to back up his statement which he hadn't told me about. "Bishop, find out wether she made it to police headquarters at all."

"Alright." I bit my lip, and then decided to take a risk. "You aren't there, are you?"

"No."

I breathed out, and refrained from pushing any further, knowing I'd already gotten lucky enough with the one-word answer. Instead, I took a deep breath and asked again, "What are you going to do about Gamma-Kira?" This was, again, pushing my luck - L kept his work strictly to himself and didn't freely give out information, and I honestly didn't really expect him to answer, not truthfully at least - but I was curious.

He didn't sound very offended, though. "Gamma-Kira?" he repeated mildly, a strong undercurrent under his words.

"Well, you've already caught Alpha and Beta, so this one has to be a new one. Gamma," I reasoned, completely oblivious to it.

"It is interesting," L observed, and he did suddenly sound _extremely _interested, the undercurrent becoming stronger, "that you immediately thought of a scenario in which this Kira is different from the previous ones."

I froze, confused. What did he mean? "Well, of course. The only other option implies that you were wrong about Alpha and Beta." I twisted my elastic, uncomprehending. L couldn't have been wrong about that, could he? He was _L_. My statement made perfect sense, and it was the obvious conclusion, considering we already knew Kira's powers could be shared by more than one person.

"Mmmm. This is refreshing." He didn't elaborate any further, and I gave up, stirring the conversation into a less dangerous subject.

"L," I started slowly, "if you and I were to play Chess, we would do it over the phone, right?"

"Right," he replied, but he didn't seem very interested anymore, his thoughts already drifting someplace else.

* * *

_D... DdDdD... 500, 150, 100, 50, a programming language, a triangle... A cool riddle.  
_

D had too many possible meanings. The riddle was for me, therefore it must be something _I_ would think of, and the answer to it must be relevant to me or to L somehow. I was missing something terribly obvious here.

* * *

_A.N. Well, that was it. I have bad news: college starts soon. I'll try to stick to my pre-interlude update rate of two chapters a week, but no promises. If I do end up only updating weekly, I'll try to make the chapters longer... Sorry._


	28. June 30th

_A.N: Right. Thank you for your reviews and your patience, and I'm sorry I had to slow down with the updates. Next one will be next Monday._

* * *

**Chapter 28: June 30th**

_So she met Kira between 8:52 am and 2 pm on January first._

* * *

Mr Misora and I stood side-by-side, staring up at the huge map of central Tokyo we had photocopied across forty sheets of A4 paper and glued to the longest wall of Naomi's bedroom. The map was full of colorful symbols and arrows, which were each labeled with a date and a time and a squiggly explanation of witnesses' impressions. Mr Misora was going over all the facts again, following the arrows with his pen. "Right. On December 27th two officers go to the hotel to inform Naomi of Raye's death. She doesn't leave her room or speak to anyone for the whole night, and the following day she calls our house," his pen travelled to his own home, tapping it lightly twice, "and tells us the news. We insist that she come stay with us but she refuses. She doesn't leave her hotel room that day either."

I was only half-listening, my eyes roaming over the map. Central Tokyo's streets were so straight, I noticed not for the first time, like a grid or a chess board.

"Raye's family want him to be buried in America," Mr Misora continued, "so on December 29th his body is flown there. Naomi goes to the airport... Then she returns to the hotel, calls us again, and tells me to _look after her diaries_, _they have everything I did written on them_, which means she'd already resolved to investigate Kira and was keeping a record of some kind. Over the following two days she goes all over Tokyo," he gestured widely at the whole wall, "following Raye's footsteps. She believes he's come in contact with Kira and is trying to figure out how. On the 31st she finally arrives to the bus station, and after questioning the driver she spends the afternoon holed up in her hotel room." No one would have guessed, from his sharp and precise movements, that he was actually nearing his sixties.

I took a couple of steps back while he talked and sat on Naomi's bed. It really did look like a board, and Naomi's movements from block to block made her seem like a chess piece.

"Now, the important part: on the morning of January 1st she leaves the hotel again. She doesn't tell anyone where she's going, but a couple of witnesses assure they've seen her motorbike at the Fura crossing, 8:38 am, and an old man sees her racing down Hijimo street, 8:52 am. If we link both places together," he traced the straight line that went from one to the other, his finger continuing in the direction it pointed to, "we get to the NPA headquarters, at approximately 9 am, which is, coincidentally, the time they open to the public. She intended to contact the police as soon as possible."

"Not the police," I corrected. "L."

He turned his head towards me, surprised. "Pardon?"

"Naomi didn't trust the police or anyone Raye had come in contact with, since they could be Kira," I explained. "But she did trust L. He's the one in charge of the Kira investigation, so it would make sense she wanted to speak to him." Not to mention she'd worked for him before, but he didn't need to know that. I looked at the map once again. "This means that, before leaving her house on the morning of January 1st, she had made her breakthrough discovery." I bit my lip. "And then she went back to the hotel and burned her notebooks at 2 pm, according to the receptionist. So she met Kira," I concluded, "between 8:52 am and 2 pm on January 1st."

Mr Misora stared at me thoughtfully, his hand running through his scarce grey hair. "A five-hour interval. There aren't that many people she could have met."

I remained silent for a while, before turning around towards the door. "Let's go to the NPA headquarters. We need to find out if she ever made it."

The ride was silent, as usual. Mr Misora understood the importance of letting me prepare our immediate moves in peace. If Naomi had made it to headquarters, then her request to see L would have obviously been denied, but she wouldn't have given up. She would have tried to find another way of contacting the investigation team... But somehow, Kira had managed to find her and kill her before she did.

I tilted my head sideways, my eyes narrowing a little. Naomi knew Kira was dangerous, she would have been cautious about revealing her identity or the fact that she was investigating him. So how had he managed to get her real name? Perhaps it was not Alpha-Kira who had met her, but Beta-Kira, who only needed a face to kill. Dates ran through my mind, January 1st, only one month after the first killings, Beta-Kira's broadcast had been in April... So it couldn't be.

It was Alpha-Kira she had come in contact with, for sure. The original evil. But how did he manage to get her name? Had she just been careless? I glanced at Mr Misora, the determined look in his eyes and the tightness of his jaw. Had she become too emotionally involved, like her father, and had that made it easier for Kira to manipulate her?

Mr Misora parked the car in front of the building, a tall, imposing giant of steel and glass like so many of Tokyo's skyscrapers. We climbed the stone steps to the entrance without saying a word, and I felt Mr Misora take a deep breath before pushing the heavy glass door open, letting me pass in front of him.

The entrance hall was smaller than I thought it would be, with empty waiting chairs along both walls forming an aisle towards the reception desk at the back of the room. Behind the desk sat two serious-looking officers, staring intently at their screens. As we approached the youngest one looked up. He seemed like the kind of person who took their work seriously, his gaze level, his badge carefully polished and the papers on his desk neatly squared up. I liked him immediately. After months of piecing together accounts from vague, forgetful and unwilling witnesses, I had the feeling that speaking to him would be refreshing. "May I help you?" His voice, too, was crisp and to-the-point.

Mr Misora cleared his throat. "We'd like to talk to the policeman who was on duty at this front desk on the morning of January first," he stated without preamble. "Is it possible? It is quite an important matter."

The other policeman, older and less groomed, glanced up at us curiously, shrugging before going back to his screen.

The young policeman frowned. "What is it that's so important?"

"It concerns the man who was on duty," Mr Misora replied stoically.

After a silence the young policeman nodded seriously. "I can find out for you, just a moment." After a while of clicking and typing, his face cleared. "Ah, it was me," he realized, turning the screen around so we could see it. Well, I was too short to see it properly, but I could tell it was a timetable. He pointed to a row on it and then to his own nametag: Mr Uza. "I remember now. I volunteered to take the first day of the new year, since no one else wanted to."

The older policeman besides him nodded. "Yes, I remember too. You always volunteer for the holidays."

"Who were you on duty with?" Mr Misora asked, still reading the timetable.

"Rider? He left," Uza explained. "He got reassigned." His face turned serious again. "Well, how can I help you?"

Mr Misora wavered for a moment, and I grimaced. It would have been better if we could talk to both Uza and Rider at the same time; two witnesses were better than one, and it would be easier to catch differences and inconsistencies in their story. We would have to track down Rider later and question him. "We're looking for a woman who came here on January first," Mr Misora said slowly, shooting a wary look to the other policeman.

Uza's expression now held the slightest amount of suspicion at the request. "Why?"

"Well, she disappeared. We're trying to find her. Please, we must know if she was here."

He didn't believe us, I could see that in his eyes, and truly, I wasn't surprised. A good cop shouldn't be too trusting, or willing to disclose information so easily. "I'm afraid that information isn't available to civilians," he articulated slowly. "I'm sorry."

Mr Misora exploded. "Please! She's my daughter!We're only asking whether she was here!" I cringed, and restrained myself from giving him a kick on the shin. That was careless. Now if he gave him Naomi's name, it wouldn't be too hard for Uza to find Mr Misora's own, and if it had been Kira that would mean death. Now, _I_ knew Uza couldn't be Kira since Kira was currently caught by L, but Mr Misora didn't.

It confirmed my theory of emotionally invested agents making careless investigators. He continued his passionate, if quieter, speech. "The police have dropped the investigation, but we're still looking for her. We have been for months. This could finally be the clue that we need to find her. Please, we need your help."

The policeman's eyes softened into something akin to pity for Mr Misora. He looked like he wanted to say something, but started typing again instead. "Very well, I suppose there is no harm in me telling you. What is your daughter's name?"

"Naomi Misora," he replied, still oblivious to the danger he was putting himself in. I shivered slightly, and made a mental note to never turn a case into a personal matter, or vice-versa.

Uza pursed his lips, his eyes scanning the screen. "I keep a record of everyone that comes to me with a query," he explained. "It's not actually required, but I like to do it, it helps me sort them out later. Let's see, January..." We waited for a few more moments, before he shook his head and turned the screen again towards us. "I'm sorry. There is no Naomi Misora here. Perhaps it was Rider she spoke with?" he proposed, though he didn't seem very convinced.

Mr Misora physically deflated, his head lowering and his shoulders slouching forwards. He examined the list carefully, but what Uza said must have been true. "And you are sure this is everyone who came in?"

Uza nodded. "Yes. My records are trustworthy. In fact, I'm recording you right now."

"Well, I suppose we could track Rider down. Thank you for your help." He gave Uza a sad smile and turned to go.

I grabbed the sleeve of his coat disapprovingly, annoyed he'd forgotten me. "Can I take a look at the list?"

Mr Misora stopped and looked back at me before his face cleared in realization. "Ah, of course," he breathed. "She used an alias." He grabbed the screen and tilted it down so I could see, under the eyes of the incredulous policeman, who only now seemed to really notice I was there.

I quickly jumped to the beginning of January 1st, and pointed to the first name. "Shoko Maki," I read. "The first person to arrive on January 1st, and the only woman on the list. It's her." So she did make it to the station. What next? What would she have done when she was denied the option to see L? "Can you remember anything about her?"

"Well, let's see," Uza frowned, opening another window. "Her query... She wanted to see L. Oh yes, I remember."

Mr Misora seemed to have recovered from his momentary dip into mindlessness, because he picked up the interrogation again quickly enough, and his voice had a cautious edge to it this time. He asked many questions which Uza answered dutifully, in a mix of respect and pity for the elder man. Perhaps he felt sorry for the father who was still obsessed with his daughter's disappearance even when it was clear she was dead. Either way, he answered, and that was what mattered.

I remained silent, thinking. She _had_ made it to the station, which meant she'd met Kira later. "Did she say where she was planning to go or if she was going to meet someone?" I interrupted.

Uza looked at me like I had two heads again. "I couldn't say for sure," he said slowly. "It was a long time ago, I don't remember much." He sighed, and then froze and looked at Mr Misora. "Hang on..." thoughts whirled behind his eyes as he finally realized that perhaps it wasn't a delusional old man after all. "So your daughter went missing after coming here with information about Kira? You mean, maybe... what she had could be real?"

Luckily, the other policeman had put headphones on and didn't hear his outburst. Mr Misora, of course, confirmed it immediately, and with an enthusiasm I wouldn't have expected of him two months ago. He told Uza of our findings and theories, ecstastic that a member of the police was finally taking interest in the case again, and they started discussing the possibility of telling the senior officers about it; after all, it was an important breakthrough. Mr Uza even suggested we contact the Chief immediately.

I had to stop it. There was a reason why L had given the task of gathering evidence to me, and the clear instructions to not let it be known that I was investigating. So I very calmly pointed out that we couldn't actually be sure that Shoko Maki was Naomi Misora. It could have been a complete coincidence, I said, and bothering the Chief or the investigation team over it might not be very wise - at least not until we were sure they were in fact the same person. Mr Misora stared at me in disbelief, but thankfully remained quiet.

And that was how I convinced Uza to look for the security tapes of January 1st. "If you show them to us, we could identify her, and if it is Naomi Misora tell the Chief about it." He agreed, but warned us that it would take some time for him to find them, since they wouldn't be in the main archives anymore and he'd have to hunt for them in the old records.

* * *

Later, back at the Misora home, Mr Misora took me to the living-room and asked me to sit down. I'd known a talk was coming from his tense posture during the whole ride back. He was shocked, and angry, but trying to control it and think rationally. "Bishop," he started, taking a seat on the couch in front of me, "we have to talk."

I got out my elastic and started fiddling with it.

"We know Naomi went to the police station," he stated, a hint of anger in his voice, "we know she had information on Kira and we know that he was the one who killed her," he only paused briefly at the word _killed_, "and now that the police finally start taking an interest in the case again you lie and tell them we can't be sure." That was all he said. It wasn't a question. It wasn't even an accusation, it was simply a statement, but I still felt like I had to answer.

"Yes. We don't have any proof."

He pursed his lips. "Girl, I know you're not the real detective," upon my surprised look he just frowned, "come on, how stupid do you think I am? I know there's someone else behind you interested in Naomi and it isn't because he admires her as an investigator like you told us on that first day. That is why I haven't been very insistent about all this," he gestured sharply to the whole room, "because I know there's someone else taking responsibility for you. But now I realize your _employer_ doesn't want the police to know about it, even though we could really use their help."

Again, not a question. I remained silent under his scrutinizing gaze.

"_You_ might not want to work with the police, but if the opportunity arises, _I_ will take it. I'm sorry, Bishop, but I only want to know what happened to her," he finally sighed, hanging his head.

The ticks of the clock on the wall were unusually loud, I thought. Unbearably loud, each one of them a hammer on my brain. I licked my dry lips twice, then gave up and put a strand of hair in my mouth. How ironic was it that he was working with someone better than the police, better than _anyone_, and he didn't know it? "Give me a month," I offered, my voice trembling slightly. At this point, there was no other option than to compromise. "If we don't find her in a month, then you can tell them." Though it wasn't really a compromise, as I didn't intend to let him. I couldn't let L's case be known by the police if he didn't want it to. But I hoped that, with the recent breakthrough, a month would be long enough for us to find her, and if it wasn't, well... I would think of something else to dissuade him.

Though by the look in his eyes I could tell that a convincing lie wouldn't do. Perhaps, in a month, telling him the truth would be all I had left. If he didn't find out by himself beforehand, that was.

* * *

"We got a new reply," Haru informed excitedly from his computer chair. At first I'd thought it strange to find him so interested in my mystery opponent, until I realized it wasn't for the chess itself but for the fact that the emails were untraceable. He talked about asking some of his programming friends about it - and when I looked surprised, he smiled and nodded towards the screen, where a chatroom was opened. "Yup, they're my friends," he said, and I didn't ask anything more about that.

I knew Haru was becoming a good programmer, and I suspected a bit more than a programmer when I caught him "slipping" into the cameras of one of Bonman's factories. There was an unspoken agreement between us: I didn't ask about what he did during his hours in front of the screen and he didn't comment on my intriguing conversations over the phone in a mix of foreign languages (I was now halfway fluent in French, as well as English). And when I was tired of thinking about my cases I joined him for a computer game.

It was nice.

"Qxe7," he read to me, in between all the typing.

I frowned, walking over to the table where my game with Mister Mystery was already in one of its late stages, and moved the white queen to capture my own. He had actually done it? I hadn't been sure he would - normally, he was much more careful. He usually went for the option that would protect his pieces rather than make risky exchanges.

"He wrote something underneath this time."

I perked up. "Really?"

" 'To win, you must attack,'" Haru quoted.

The corner of my lips pulled up. "It's a distraction tactic. He wants me to focus on his queen and ignore the innocent little knight on c3." Trying to cheat already?

But... _To win_.

I captured the knight, leaving his queen alone. "You lose the queen for a knight? That's stupid!" Haru protested.

"No. It would have been mate in eight otherwise." I tilted my head a little, then grinned. "He's good. He might even beat me."

Haru shook his head. I grinned wider at the black and white pieces on the board.

_To win._

_Not that I'll let you win this time, Near._


	29. July 20th

_A.N: I'msosorrypleasedon'tkillme. Alright, I know I said Monday, but I was so busy I just couldn't make it. Forgive me?_

_Um. Anyway, we're on the last... lap? stretch? of the story. Important things still have to happen, but from here on out I have most of the scenes already thought out, so really, it's just a matter of finding the time to write them. I'll just have to ask for a bit of patience._

_As always I appreciate all feedback, impressions and thoughts on what will happen._

* * *

**Chapter 29: July 20th**

_Nothing. You remind me of someone, that's all._

* * *

I'd known from the beginning that, to L, I was no more than a chess piece, a useful one certainly, but one that could be sacrificed for the greater purpose should the situation arise. It had been clear to me from the start that I'd be putting my very life in danger, and I'd been perfectly willing to take that risk, if it meant solving cases for L and getting those thrilling puzzles to chase the boredom away.

When the situation truly arises, though, one can't help but regret everything that led up to it.

I regretted ever having decided to pursue the mystery of L, I regretted every conversation I'd had with him, every puzzle he gave me, no matter how fun. I regretted becoming his agent, admiring him and looking down on Kira followers; to summarize it all, I regretted being in the TV room on that day of the broadcast that sparked the war, when I first set my eyes upon the symbol of L. At the moment I couldn't help thinking that, had I never seen that broadcast, now I would be soundly sleeping in my bed at Bonman's house, or perhaps still lying in the broken, hard mattress at the orphanage, bored but safe. Ultimately I knew that it was my own stupidity that had landed me in this situation, but it was easier to blame L and everything that involved him.

I was shamelessly bawling at this point, tears and snot running down my face. If it hadn't been because I'd managed to separate the irrational, dreadful, _pure_ fear from the rest of my mind, I would be lost now, paralyzed, unable to think. I still felt the fear, of course, a terrifying black hole in the center of my mind, and it still manifested outwardly; but I'd been able to build a wall around it, isolating it so it wouldn't completely swallow my ability to reason.

Not that reasoning was proving to be of much use. But it was a consolation that I still mantained some form of control.

The madman currently holding me at gunpoint was a severe case of schizophrenia, I knew that after having followed him around for a day. Add in some abuse in his childhood years, a maniacal faith in God's Judgement and a _gun_, and he fit the profile of many of the serial killers L had caught in the past. "Your tears won't fool me, demon," he was yelling over my screams. The hand that held the gun was trembling. "You are a threat to our Lord Kira and must be eliminated."

He was a rarity. Normally Kira followers were peaceful, kind citizens who only wanted to live without any troubles. This kind of mad worshipper was extremely rare, even if some recent TV shows were depicting so many of them it was becoming a stereotype. Perhaps that was why I hadn't seen it coming, because I'd unconsciously assumed they only existed in fiction.

Fifteen minutes since I'd pressed the hang up button on my phone.

Not that I expected L would do anything. He'd warned me against following this particular lead in this particular side-case that had in principle nothing to do with Kira at all. Still, in the end, he'd allowed it, meaning he really was taking the risk of losing his Bishop. For all I knew he was _planning_ on it, so he could use my death for the greater purpose. Besides, we'd changed locations. Even if L wanted to, and were somehow able to track down where I'd called from, he wouldn't get here in time.

Yes, reasoning wasn't really a benefit.

I saw the blurry shape of the gun barrel through the tears. If I'd never talked to the best detective in the world, I wouldn't be here now.

The door to the basement we were in suddenly burst open. "Police! Drop your weapon and step away from the child!" More rushing footsteps followed. My knees felt weak and wobbly. I couldn't really breathe very well, let alone see what was happening.

But I did see the twisted, insane smile on the madman's lips. "Oh, no. I'm taking the devil-girl with me."

The noise of the shot reverberated in my brain, breaking my wall in half like it were a twig.

* * *

So that was how, at age eight, I saw a man die for the first time. Well, not if you counted Lind L. Taylor, but that was different because I hadn't actually been there, and the blood hadn't splattered on my neat shirt. It was the first time I saw a man be shot in real life, in front of me.

I sat in the backseat of the police car, staring absently out the window, a blanket covering my shoulders. The tears had long since dried on my face, and now my expression was thoughtful as I reviewed the scene in my head, the crack of the single shot in my ears. It was quite likely I'd have nightmares for a while, I pondered, remembering the madman's smile.

Two police cars had shown up at the scene, along with an expensive, black car with tinted windows, the kind I was used to seeing around the Willow's neighborhood. I assumed it was police too. I'd been ushered past it into one of the other cars, and my momentary efforts to peer inside had been in vain. There was something about it which didn't quite fit, but I was too distracted to care. It was currently following behind us.

I'd been quiet for the ride, the policeman sitting besides me giving me water and candy and nervous reassuring words. "I'm sorry about your uncle, Miss Obifiko," he kept saying, and I deduced that was a name L had given them, along with a made-up story that the madman was my uncle and they'd just burst into a scene of extreme child abuse.

I scrubbed distractedly at the blood on my shirt. It was only two small droplets, but they wouldn't get past Hans. I'd have to say I'd pricked myself with a bush or something.

Matsui was his name, and he wouldn't stop talking and asking if I was alright. "Yes, I'm fine," I finally snapped, more harshly than I'd ever addressed anyone. "Get the shock-blanket off me, I'm not in shock. I can recognize the symptoms."

He stopped and stared at me for a second, eyes wide, opportunity which I took to grab the rest of the candy in his hand and shove it down my throat, swallowing noisily. Matsui's eyes widened even more at my sudden gesture, and whatever he'd been about to say died on his lips. I wasn't curious enough to even wonder why.

It had been many mistakes on my part that had led the madman to deem me a menace for Kira. A poorly-chosen alias, irreflexive comments and unsubtle fingers, and above all being caught talking to L on the phone, caused by, well, an accumulation of carelessness and over-confidence.

It had been a supreme demonstration of incompetence, all in all. L would want nothing to do with me now. He'd demand my notes on all the ongoing investigations and never contact me again. He was probably pissed that he'd had to mobilize the police to get me out of there. Why had he done it anyway? Maybe he was afraid someone might figure out my connection to him if I died? It would be bad if it got out that the best detective in the world used children as avatars.

In any case, I'd never work for him again. Strangely, I didn't feel any disappointment. It was more like relief, really. The blood flaked between my fingers as I re-lived the moment of the gunshot, the second the madman's eyes had rolled each to one side and a neat hole appeared on his forehead.

No more cases, I promised myself, the ghost of the black hole making my head slightly dizzy. It wasn't worth it.

A phone rang, interrupting the horrid memory. I jumped, thinking it was mine, but then Matsui brought his hand to his pocket and pulled his own phone out. The rising and falling of the voice on the other end, or rather lack thereof, was terribly familiar. "Not the station? Why?" Matsui questioned. "Oh, her grandfather's house? Alright." He listened intently for a while, nodding along, until he finally hung up and turned to me, his weird expression from earlier replaced by a smile which tried hard to be kind and understanding. "Do you know the address of your grandpa's house?"

Going back home to Bonman's was out of the question, so I gave him Mr Misora's. "I know how to get there from here," I informed, pulling out a photograph of the giant map of Tokyo in Naomi's room to the forefront of my brain. "Turn left on the next lights," I instructed the policeman in the front seat. He followed my instructions, as did the black car behind us.

Matsui was looking at me all surprised again. "Aren't you a bit... Uh..."

"Just shut it, Matsui," the driver interrupted wearily. Matsui hung his head, but then looked up again decidedly. "But-"

"I'm fine," I snapped again. "Gramps will take care of me. Take a left."

Geez, why was he gaping at me like that? I was used to being stared at quizzically by adults, but Matsui's expression was one of complete bafflement. I turned away, irritated, and resumed looking out the window.

The image of the madman's smile was reflected back at me, making shivers run down my spine. Nope. No more cases for me. I didn't have what it took to be an investigator after all.

* * *

The temperature outside was stifling hot despite it being the night-time. Trees swayed lazily to the warm breeze, and somewhere a cat purred. I took the hand offered by Matsui to get down from the car, crossed the small garden to the doorway, and rang the bell, the noise carrying for miles in the silence. While I waited my eyes drifted to the black car parked a bit further down the street. Still no one had come out of it.

Mr Misora opened the door, and I pounced of him, crying loudly "Gramps!" before proceeding to shoot him a warning look and whisper as quickly as I could before Matsui caught up to us. Thankfully, he went along with it, nodding slowly as the policeman explained why we were here.

I drifted away from the both of them, knowing Mr Misora wouldn't betray me so easily, and approached the black car. There was something at the pit of my stomach telling me I should know who was in there, that it was crucial. I stopped in front of the back window and peered into the glass, staring intently as if I wanted to burn holes in it, even though I knew it to be quite pointless. It was specifically designed to prevent people from seeing after all.

But there was someone inside, I could see the vague outline of his head. I imagined it was L, staring back at me from the other side of the glass.

But of course it couldn't be L. There was no logical reason why he'd come to rescue me himself, it was a pointless risk. My tongue caught a strand of my hair and spun it around in my mouth for a while, before I shook my head and finally turned and went back to Mr Misora and Matsui.

"My superior will send some other people over to take your statement," he was saying, "but, for now, just give her something warm to drink." He hesitated, his own words making him wince, and he glanced up apologetically. "I'm truly sorry about Mr Obifiko, but it was the only way. Another department will take up the case from here."

Mr Misora only nodded in understanding. I noticed how he was avoiding to speak and mentally applauded him - he didn't know the whole story, and if he started making up things he might accidentally contradict it.

They shook hands and Matsui crouched in front of me. "Hey," he said, "are you really alright?"

His expression was filled with genuine worry, which made my irritation melt a bit. "Yes, I'm fine," I replied, looking away from his earnest, open gaze, the walls of my throat clamping shut. I must have looked quite the mess, with red eyes and trails of tears and dirt down my face.

He raised a hand to ruffle my hair, his eyes closing over his smile. "Listen, if you ever want to talk about something, there are many people to help you, alright? There will be more policemen coming to ask you things tomorrow, but for now you should rest." I shifted uncomfortably and he withdrew his hand, putting it back in his pocket, from which he got out one last sweet. I wondered if Matsui always had so many sweets at hand and why as I took it, unwrapped it and popped it in my mouth.

"Who's in that car?" I demanded around the mouthful.

He turned around, surprised by my question. "Huh? Oh, it's... Just my colleagues."

"You're a really bad liar," I observed neutrally. "You shouldn't take so long to answer, and the stuttering really doesn't help... What?" I demanded, unnerved by his stare.

He didn't reply immediately, taking a deep breath in and out before finally speaking. "Nothing. You remind me of someone, that's all." His eyes glanced back to the black car momentarily before he straightened up. "Take care of yourself, Miss," he said with a sad smile, and went back to his own car.

Mr Misora and I watched them leave in silence. I moved the candy around in my mouth, deciding I did like Matsui after all. He seemed like a good, honest person, even if he wasn't the brightest bulb around. Not to mention he'd saved my life - well, I didn't know if it was him who had actually shot or another policeman, but all the same.

"Are you alright?" Mr Misora finally asked. This was the eleventh time I heard that question in the past hour. "Is it true that you nearly got shot?"

"Yes," I confirmed, "but I'm fine." In retrospect I realized I probably hadn't been in that much danger after all. Because L was L, he most likely had been monitoring my every movement since I decided to pursue the madman, which explained the police's convenient timing. He was a man who'd thought ahead of his own death; of course he would have prepared a plan in case I was kidnapped or otherwise put in danger. He knew it was a risky game we were playing.

Mr Misora looked at me long and hard. There was shock, and pity, in his eyes. "Let's get you something to drink," he proposed, leaning down to take my small hand in his. "Then you can explain everything to me."

* * *

We sat facing each other in the kitchen, each with a warm mug of tea. The room was only lit by the yellow glow of a lamp in the ceiling, casting eerie shadows over us. There was a fly buzzing around the lamp, constantly hammering its head against it. Mrs Misora wasn't at home, which was lucky because otherwise she'd have revealed to the police that the story they had was false.

I didn't tell him much of what had happened, only that I'd been working on another case and put in a situation which, had the police not burst in, would have ended with me dead. I also told him I'd covered up my involvement by making them think my captor was my uncle, and Mr Misora my grandfather. He just stared at me for a while, and then sighed deeply.

"This other case," he started, "had nothing to do with Naomi at all?"

"No."

"But it was for the same... employer," he stated rather than asked.

I paused for a moment, taking a sip of my mug. Above I heard the muted noise of the fly slamming its head one last time, and, a few seconds later, dropping on the table in front of me. "Yes."

He sighed again, his face serious. "What am I supposed to say when the police come back for an explanation? They'll find out he wasn't really your uncle, and I'm not really your grandfather."

"They won't come back," I replied simply. Now, how could I explain that L would cover it up, without actually mentioning L?

But I didn't need to. Mr Misora's eyes became guarded as he glanced down at his mug and swirled it thoughtfully. He then proceeded to explain his theory of how my employer had power over the police, enough to mobilize them to save me and then make it seem like it didn't happen, how he was interested in Kira, how he didn't want his identity to be known, all without looking up from his tea. "Is he who I think he is?" he concluded blandly. It sounded like a rehearsed speech, making me wonder for how long he'd known.

"Probably," I enunciated slowly, looking up at the ceiling, where another two flies had replaced the first one.

Mr Misora remained still for a moment, then stood up and turned to the sink to wash our empty mugs. I watched his shoulders gradually slump, as if a great weight was slowly wearing him down, and heard another long, deflated sigh.

That night he let me borrow Naomi's room, since it was too late for me to go back home. I tossed and turned on the bed, unable to fall asleep. Whenever I closed my eyes I saw the gun barrel pointed at me and shot straight up, hands clutching the sheets and mouth gasping for air. This happened twice before I decided I was wasting my time and switched the light on, turning to study the map on the wall.

I'd find Naomi, I told myself, but only because I'd promised Mr Misora. Then I'd stop taking cases altogether. The idea of that experience repeating itself made me shudder. I went to sit by the window.

The first flickers of dawn lit up the horizon, the sky slowly turning a pale, neutral grey. This wasn't the first time I saw the sunrise in the city. Last Halloween Sandra had made us climb to the top of the Willow's roof to tell scary stories, which had us up all night until the fiery rays finally peeked from behind the city's skyscrapers.

This sunrise was dull, colorless and boring in comparison. I opened the window and leaned out, letting the air dry the sweat on my face and neck. My phone vibrated, and with trembling hands I brought it to my ear.

"How are you, Bishop?"

"I'm fine."

He took quite a long time to answer.

"Clearly not, if nightmares are keeping you up at this hour of the morning."

* * *

_A.N. Right. Hope you liked it. The storyline will pick up again next chapter. I'll try -try- to get it up next weekend, but I might not be able to. Thanks everyone for your patience._


End file.
